


Today

by sarahxxxlovey



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper Friendship, Archie Andrews & Jughead Jones Friendship, Betty Cooper Loves Jughead Jones, Dad - Freeform, Domestic, Domestic Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Domestic Fluff, Domestic!Bughead, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Journalist Betty Cooper, Jughead Jones is Not Asexual, Mom - Freeform, Parenthood, Past Toxic Relationship(s), Sexual Tension, Single Parent Jughead, Single Parent Jughead Jones, Single Parents, Slow Burn, Smut, Step-parents, Strangers to Lovers, Uncle Archie Andrews, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Writer Jughead Jones, background varchie, bughead - Freeform, future!Bughead, single parent, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-24 20:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 83,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13819227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahxxxlovey/pseuds/sarahxxxlovey
Summary: “Daddy?” a voice called from the back seat and pulled Jughead out of his thoughts. “Are we there yet?”He adjusted the rearview mirror to look into the back seat. Five-year-old Cynthia Jones sat on her booster, playing a game on the iPad.“A couple more hours,” he said with a smile.Riverdale, the sign read, 187 miles.





	1. Chapter 1

Jughead Jones sat in the driver's seat of his truck, the bed completely full of all his worldly possessions and the tow hitch attached to a rental trailer containing his furniture. He pressed his foot a little bit harder onto the pedal and watched the landscape roll past him through the windows.

The heat of July in the city had gotten to be too much for him and even though he hadn’t planned to move until mid-August, he’d given in and packed up the truck in the first week instead, starting the long road trip upstate. The house he’d bought for cash was available now and without the commitment of traditional work hours, he was free to leave whenever he pleased. 

The weather and the environment made him feel like he was suffocating and the city had started to feel more like a prison than a sanctuary. 

Still, it was bittersweet to be driving down the road away from the life he’d known for nearly ten years. The place had grown to be his home. The bodega on the corner with the really good sandwiches that stayed open late even on weekdays. The library on 6th ave, where he’d spent countless hours over the last few years. His tiny, six-hundred square foot apartment on a quiet street uptown that he’d stayed in even after he had wildly outgrown it.

Some of the worst and best times in his life had happened in that city. A whole decade of memories that were getting further and further away the longer he drove. 

He was leaving the big city, the place that he loved, in exchange for the small town life again. Growing up, he had sworn he would get out of that type of town, the stifling presences of gangs and his dad’s lingering presence pressuring him into stupid decisions. It had felt easier at eighteen to run away than to stay.

Turns out, the big city hadn’t been that much different and troubles could follow you across state lines. 

“Daddy?” a voice called from the back seat and pulled Jughead out of his thoughts. “Are we there yet?” 

He adjusted the rearview mirror to look into the back seat. Five-year-old Cynthia  Jones sat on her booster, playing a game on the iPad.

“A couple more hours,” he said with a smile. “You doing okay back there?”

“Yup,” she said, pushing her hair out of her face with an open palm and turning her attention back to her game.

“Need a break?”

“Nope,” she replied happily, "But I'm out of goldfish." 

He laughed and turned his attention back to the road.

_ Riverdale _ , the sign read,  _ 187 miles. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the beginning of a new story that bit my head off and wouldn't let me sleep. 
> 
> The title is based off the Jefferson Airplane song "Today" - a beautiful song that spoke to me for this story. 
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter, but stay tuned. Much more coming very soon.


	2. Chapter 2

The first night in their new home, Jughead and Cynthia sat on the bare hardwood floor of the living room eating fast food burgers and sharing french fries from some place called Pop's he'd found on Yelp.

Turns out, furniture for a six-hundred square foot apartment didn’t furnish a four bedroom house (that was nearly four times the size of their old place).

He romanticized the meal in his head. This was something that he never got to do as a child: eating dinner with his family in a way that felt so bourgeoisie it hurt, but in the best way. He was proud to be in this house and proud to be there with Cindy. Not a trailer or a rented apartment but a _house_ that was all theirs now. A space for just the two of them that no one was going to take away.

One might not be able to tell it from that night, but they actually had a real dining room in the new house, but no furniture in it made it impossible to use. The kitchen table they’d used in the city was barely two and half feet wide each way, a little cheap Ikea hunk of a thing with matching chairs that had broken over the years to point where Jughead just threw them out. The table looked absolutely ridiculous trying to be anything but a serving table in the breakfast nook.

He shook his head at the fact that he was actually calling a space in his home a _breakfast nook._

 _If only Dad could see us now_ , he thought wryly.

His attention slipped back to Cynthia, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in a pair of overall shorts and a striped tee shirt. She had done so well with the drive up, which had taken nearly two days at the speed the trailer could go, and he couldn’t help but feel proud at how well she was adjusting so far. Through no effort of his own, she seemed happy and excited to be somewhere new.

They still had a couple days before she started school, and Jughead had taken the opportunity to get familiar with the town a little bit. They had driven around yesterday,  past the old brick buildings of Riverdale’s downtown. He’d put on his old favorite CDs, the ones that reminded him of the summers of his childhood, and she’d hummed along in the backseat, looking out the window and asking questions about the passing landmarks. He’d even taken her to get ice cream, something he rarely did because she rarely asked for it but the sun was shining and he couldn’t help but feel like a weight was lifting off his shoulders in the fresh air.

“How’s the food?” Jughead asked, dipping his fries in the ketchup from the plastic container sitting on the floor.

“Yummy,” Cynthia giggled, taking another bite of her burger and smiling at him. “This is fun.”

It was stupid how infectious her smile was, how easily she pulled happiness out of him.

“Careful or you’re going to spill on yourself,” he laughed.

“I’m fine, Daddy,” she said with an eye roll, but double checking afterwards that she hadn’t dropped anything on her front.

“You’re fine? When’d you get so big, huh?” he teased as he leaned against the nearest wall, asking himself more than he was asking her.

“You’re just old,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

He rolled his eyes. On the inside he felt ancient, or at least a lot older than he was, but realistically, he was nowhere nearing middle-age. Twenty-seven (almost twenty-eight) was anything but old in the real world. Except the brain of a five-year-old wasn’t the real world at all.

Cynthia slurped down a gulp of lemonade.

She looked so much like her mom. Her dark brown, monolid eyes. Her olive skin. The rosy tinge to her cheeks. The dark curls might have been his but she was her mother through and through.

He was struck again with how different their lives were about to get. She’d gone to preschool three days a week in the city so she could socialize and learn her numbers and letters and colors and all that good stuff, but he’d never spent this much time away from her. He had been able to walk her to the preschool and walk her home and he spent nearly all day with every activity revolving around her or his writing.

He knew he’d get used to it; he had adjusted all those years ago when they found out they were having a baby. He had adjusted to having a toddler and a smart little girl who asked a lot of questions. He had adjusted to being a single parent. This should be a piece of cake.

But now, now she was going to be gone from 8 am to 1 pm and he would be alone in this big house in the middle of this podunk town, working and waiting for her to be done so he could go pick her up. The thought made him lonely. His sole companion of the last three years, his favorite companion, was growing up and this was only the beginning.

It didn’t help that they were in a completely new town where they knew no one.

Everything was changing.

A new house, which couldn’t have been more different than the place they’d called home before. He no longer had to work on the couch or in bed, forcing himself into uncomfortable positions so that he didn’t fall asleep while he typed away at his computer. He had a whole room that served as his office now. Well, he would have a full room that served as his office. Right now it was empty as could be, but soon he’d have a desk and a chair and maybe some bookshelves. His first real office. A real office for a real writer.

There was still so much he needed to get to make it feel like a real home: curtains, another couch, rugs, dining room set, art to hang on the walls, some sort of furniture to fill the fourth bedroom...

Cynthia had her own room as well with space for a toy chest and a dresser and a bed and even though it looked like nothing special now, he knew that she’d have fun picking out everything for her new room.

After buying some new things for her space, he’d bought a new king bed for himself, and sometimes Cynthia when she felt like it. He wasn’t usually one to kick her out when she wanted to snuggle.

“We can go shopping for back-to-school this week if you want,” he said, suddenly remembering her mentioning it a few weeks ago.

“Back-to-school?”

“Well you’re starting kindergarten next week. You wanted a new outfit, right?” She nodded her head enthusiastically. “We can go tomorrow, if you want?”

“Yup,” she said, nodding her head again and taking another bite.

He looked down at his food and tried to stop the sinking feeling of loneliness in his belly.

* * *

“Alright, Cynds, let’s go,” he said, leaning over her to unbuckle her seatbelt. She scrambled down from the back seat and held his hand, bouncing up and down on her toes and pointing at the store.

“Is that where we’re going?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch and excitement.

“Yup,” he said with a laugh as he slammed the door of his car shut and locked it with a beep.

He tried to approach the whole ordeal with a positive attitude, but Cynthia was picky and she knew what he liked. He’d never had much luck helping her pick out clothes and every time they had to go shopping, he wished more and more that her mom were there to help him.

A half hour later, they were still looking for the perfect outfit and Jughead had all but lost all his patience.

“What about this?” he asked, holding up a pink shirt and jeans.

“I don’t like pink,” Cynthia said, shaking her head, an adorable pout gracing her face.

“It comes in purple,” he said, holding up a different version of the same shirt.

“Or buttons,” she said angrily, crossing her arms in front of her. “I’ve told you a don’t like buttons like a million times.”

Jughead looked around the store to make sure that no one was going to be in the crosshairs if his daughter suddenly decided to throw a tantrum in the middle of the store. The only other patron in the area was an attractive blonde young lady who looked to be about his age, milling around with a stack of clothes piled on her arm.

“What about this?” he asked for what seemed like the millionth time, holding up another sweater.

“Definitely not, Daddy,” she said with a disgusted shake of her head, her tone saying that she couldn’t _believe_ he had picked that out for her.

The woman stifled a laugh into her hand and turned her head from him quickly as Jughead turned to glare at her, her ponytail whipping the side of her head. He rolled his eyes and spotted another rack of clothes.

“All right, let’s go, let’s go,” he said, pushing the back of Cynthia’s shoulder gently to urge her along. “Next rack. This dress?”

“I don’t like that!” she said curtly, crossing her arms and stomping her feet. “I don’t like any of these! You’re picking bad stuff!”

“Well, I’m not exactly a fashion expert, I’m sorry!” he said, holding his hands up in mock outrage. “You wouldn’t pick anything out by yourself and nothing I pick is good enough either.”

She glared at him, lines deep in between her eyebrows and Jughead sighed, moving to the next rack to pick up another option.

She rejected that too and with each bad choice he made she was getting angrier and angrier, stomping her little feet on the floor and crossing her arms so tightly that it looked like she’d never unravel them again.

“Hi,” a voice said from behind him. He turned to see the blonde woman holding a large shopping bag and an embroidered denim dress. “I think she might like this.”

He crossed his arms, looking down at his daughter with raised eyebrows.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked.

Cynthia took a step towards the woman, thoughtfully turning the dress around on the hanger and peering around to see the back.

“It’s so cute!” she squealed after a moment. “Daddy, please can I get it?”

“Well that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” he laughed, taking the dress from the woman’s outstretched hand and checking the tag to make sure it was the right size. 4T. The blonde had gotten the size right for his smaller than average daughter.

“I’m going to pick out a headband,” Cynthia announced, walking to an accessories stand as it caught her eye.

“Thanks for that,” Jughead said to the woman when Cynthia walked away, “We were about three seconds away from a complete meltdown.”

He looked at the woman for the first time and felt his breath hitch a little bit. She was cute. _Really_ cute. And had a gorgeous smile. And soft, forest green eyes.

“No problem,” she replied, smiling, “I could sort of tell. Looked like you could use some help.”

He ran his hand along the back of his hair, feeling slightly awkward and unsure of whether he should keep talking or just leave her alone. He settled on shoving his hands in his pockets, the dress slung over his elbow.

“You shopping for your kids?” he asked, nodding towards the bag in her arms.

“Oh! No, I’m shopping for my niece and nephew. They’re starting school on Monday and my sister is a little busy so I volunteered to take them and… I like spoiling them honestly,” she laughed, blushing a little bit and lifting the bag up slightly as evidence.

“Lucky kids,” he replied, his voice full of laughter, “My daughter is starting kindergarten on Monday.”

“Lincoln Elementary?”

“The one and only.”

“Maybe they’ll all have recess together!” she said, with a big smile, a big and very, _very_ gorgeous smile, holding her hand out for him to shake,  “I’m Betty, by the way,”

“Jughead,” he said, shaking hers in response and trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach when their hands touched. ( _How long had it been since he’d touched a woman?_ )

“Jughead?” she asked curiously, her face knitting adorably in confusion.

“It’s better than the real thing, trust me,” he responded, checking on Cynthia with his eyes without giving it a second thought. She caught his eye and ran up to him, tugging on his arm and showing him the hair accessory she’d picked out.

“Yes, I see it, thank you,” he laughed, taking it from her and flipping it to look at the pricetag.

“See you around... Jughead,” Betty said, smiling shyly.

“Thanks again, Betty,” he replied. She lifted a hand to wave slightly in response and then walked to the door, the bells jingling lightly as she left.

“Who’s that?” Cynthia asked curiously.

“Her name’s Betty,” he said, his heart thumping in his chest. He shook his head, trying to clear it like an etch-a-sketch and pushed his daughter towards another section of the store. “Now go pick out some shoes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to start including some notes at the bottom with links to what I've imagined. It probably says something bad about my writing that I don't feel like I can describe things well enough, but it's still fun.  
> bit.ly/CynthiaJones - > This is how I imagine Cynthia.  
> bit.ly/FirstDayDressCynthia -> And her first day of school dress


	3. Chapter 3

Jughead had gotten Cynthia ready for preschool a hundred times and yet still, today felt different. She wanted to brush her own teeth and get herself dressed and pack her own bag and pick out what she wanted for lunch. All of her actions in that morning were showing her best qualities, how smart and honest, thoughtful and inquisitive she was. 

It was like his toddler had grown up before his eyes in a fleeting moment.

He watched her, leaning against the doorframe of her sparsely decorated bedroom as she put her pencils carefully into their pouch and then the pouch carefully into her backpack. She strapped on the shoes she’d chosen to get for the beginning of the school year, white mary-jane style, and shoved a white cardigan into her backpack on top of her folders and papers, somehow deciding that her sweater didn’t warrant care. He couldn’t help but smile as she turned around the room to see if she’d forgotten anything, looking thoughtfully at her bag and mouthing something to herself.

He’d even done her hair, as best as he could, pulling the top half of the wispy curls back so it wouldn’t get in her face while she worked at her desk. She had grinned at him when he finished and his heart glowed.

He took her picture on the porch up against the front door, smiling and holding the straps of her backpack.

“Say cheese, honey!” 

“Daddy,” she whined with a giggle, drawing the word out.

He wondered if he’d ever stop feeling like this, like his world stopped every time she called him Daddy in her sweet little voice.

She held his hand as they walked onto the schoolyard, the hand that felt impossibly small in his own, and he wondered how it was possible that he had a part in making someone so perfect. She laughed and giggled her way into through the gate of the elementary school, her dark lashes framing her eyes as she asked question after question about what her day was going to be like.

“Will the teacher ask if I know my numbers?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure."

“I do know them,” she said seriously.

“I know you do, Cynds,” he laughed. 

“What am I going to do at school?” she asked, tugging on his hand as she bounced up and down. Her excitement was contagious. 

“It’s going to be just like preschool, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “Like the school you went to in the city.”

“Just like it?”

“Just like it,” he confirmed with a nod. 

“But my friends aren’t here,” she said, her face falling slightly as she looked up at the building.

He squatted down in front of her and held her hands in his own. “You’re going to make new friends. It’s going to be  _ so _ much fun. You’re going to do amazing.” 

She nodded resolutely, putting on her brave face, and kept walking. 

His thoughts went to her mom and how he wished she could see their daughter today. 

In a moment of nostalgia and sap, he lifted Cynthia up and settled her onto his hip, walking towards her classroom and their new lives, putting on his brave face too.

* * *

Cynthia got into line, placing her little feet together and facing forwards, looking curiously around and asking him if he saw the teacher yet. She was always looking around, always asking questions. He shook his head for the twelfth time and told her no with a chuckle.

There were other parents waiting in line with him and their kids. Mostly moms, some moms and dads together, but he found himself as the only single dad there. He tried not to let it bother him, but he felt the familiar sinking feeling fall into the pit of his stomach again. (The thought of doing this alone scared the shit out of him.)

The school bell rang and Cynthia nearly jumped out of her bones. 

“Daddy, it’s time!” she squealed.

He leaned down again to hug her, tears prickling at the back of his eyes. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. He pulled her in closer. 

“I love you, Cynds,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“Love you too,” she said back matter-of-factly before kissing his cheek sloppily.

“Be good and listen to the teacher, okay? And be nice to the other kids,” he muttered, his voice more choked than he would’ve liked to admit.

“Daddy,” she said in singsong when he wouldn’t let her go, “I know.” 

The front of the line started moving and she jumped out of his embrace, following the kids into her classroom with a final wave and an excited smile. 

What an independent little girl he had. 

Just when he thought he was going to leave, he heard a familiar voice saying his name. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Betty said, her voice and appearance all smiles. She was wearing a baby blue sweater that matched her converse and made her eyes look bluer and jeans that hugged her in a way Jughead tried blatantly to ignore. He looked down at his own feet sheepishly and realized they almost matched at the bottom.

“Hey,” he said softly, wiping his eyes hastily. He felt like such a doofus for getting so emotional. 

“I just dropped the kids off,” she said, her voice soft and thoughtful, “and I was wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee. There’s a place just down the street. We can walk there.” 

He looked up at her in surprise.

“Yeah,” he said as he cleared his throat and sniffled, “Sounds good.” 

She smiled again, warmly and understandingly and he couldn’t help but return it, his heart heating a little bit in his chest. She motioned with her head the direction that they should move and he let her lead the way down the pavement of the school campus, through the grass of the fields and down the tree-lined streets. 

He was thankful for the fresh air to clear his head and his emotions, bringing him back down into reality and making him feel stupid for crying at his daughter going to school.

“So, how was the first day?” she asked, breaking the silence. He looked at her with a dark laugh.

“Uh,” he scoffed, “I’m sure I looked really tough out there.”

“It’s sweet,” she insisted, bumping his shoulder with her own.

“Don't lie to me. It’s lame... common, but lame.” 

“Daniel cried for like three hours when they dropped the twins off the first time,” she said in a tone that very much reminded him of Cynthia.  She was trying to cheer him up, he realized. 

“Daniel?”

“My sister’s husband.” 

“Ah. Daniel.” 

“He’s great,” she said, looking at him sideways with a smile.

Being cramped in the car and unpacking for what felt like weeks had left him tight and sore and feeling like general crap. The weight on his chest lifted a little bit more with each moment and he took the feeling of the sun on his face into stride, enjoying the heat before the sun was too far up and it became too hot again.

He looked sideways at her again, wondering why she chose to ask him for a coffee. She was extra friendly, he realized. Wanting to cheer him up. Helping him find clothes for Cynthia. The thought made him smile, the thought that maybe the universe wasn’t out to get him.

He turned forward but couldn’t help but look at her again, this small town girl who was turning into his first friend in Riverdale. 

The morning sun made her eyes glitter of green and amber and it took his breath away for a moment. 

“We’re here,” she said suddenly as he found himself outside of a very average looking coffee shop in the "downtown" part of Riverdale.

He held the door open for her and tried to stop feeling guilty for thinking about her like that. 

“One small coffee, please and…” she said to the barista.

“The same is fine,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his money clip.

“I got it,” she said, waving him off, handing the barista a crisp $10 bill. 

“No, I-” 

“Stop it, don’t insult me,” she said, narrowing her eyes like she was challenging him to say something that opposed her. “Consider it a welcome caffeine fix. Get the next one.” 

He stood there helplessly as they waited for their drinks, clutching for straws at a conversation to start.

“How old are your niece and nephew?” he finally asked.

“Eight. Third graders. Hell-raisers, really,” she said jokingly. “They’re amazing but they have  _ so  _ much energy that it’s hard to keep up. Polly, my sister, and Daniel are just so busy and they’re trying to have another baby and it’s just a lot on their plate. I try to help as best as I can.” 

“That’s nice of you.”

“It’s family,” she said with a shrug, taking their coffees off the counter and opening hers to pour some half and half in. “You take anything in yours?” 

“Black is good.”

“Flannels, sneakers, beanie… I should have known you’d take your coffee black,” she teased. She handed him his coffee and they moved to sit at a table. “So… why Riverdale?” 

“I…it’s kind of a long story,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“What’s the short version?” she asked as she took a small sip of her drink and sat in her seat with a content little sigh.

“Well, we used to live in the city. My daughter, Cindy, or Cynthia I mean… I guess I just figured she deserved a chance at a normal life,” he said with a shrug, “I didn’t really get the normal life growing up and you don’t really get that in the city either. The streets aren’t safe, the schools aren’t as good. Just made sense to move somewhere else when she started kindergarten.” 

“A big bad kindergartener?” 

“Yup,” he said proudly, a flash of nostalgia taking over his face, “Can’t believe she’s getting so old.”

“Time is an unforgiving mistress,” she said pensively. There was a moment of silence. “Are you getting a job here?” 

“No, I can work from home.”

“What do you do?” 

“I’m uh… I’m a writer. Novels.” 

Betty’s eyes raised in surprise. “Novels?”

“Yup.”

“Would I have read any of them?” 

“Uh, maybe…” he said unsurely, nerves seeping into his voice. She stared at him pointedly. “Uhm,  _ Sweetwater _ ?” 

She laughed. “Yup, I’ve heard of them that’s for sure. FP Jones?” 

“It’s easier to go by a pen name,” he shrugged, “My dad was FP and… well, so am I technically I suppose.”

“You mean Jughead isn’t your real name?” she teased.

“Far from it. I told you Jughead was better than the real thing.” 

“I’ll take your word for it then,” she replied, her eyes twinkling. “Jughead Jones has a nice ring to it nonetheless.”

_ She’s flirting with me,  _ he realized.

Something in his heart dropped at the thought and he was suddenly overcome with the feeling like he was going to be sick.

“I… I’ll be right back,” he said suddenly, rushing towards the bathroom.

He stared into the mirror and splashed water on his cheeks, shaking his head to get rid of the excess water and trying to control his breathing.

He went weeks feeling like he was okay and then the feelings of guilt and remorse and sadness swept over him and left him feeling like he wasn’t ever going to get better. 

Moving away from their apartment should have helped. It was nice to get away from the memories, the months of incredible grief that he spent with a toddler. 

He splashed more water on his face and dried himself against his flannel, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to snap out of it.

“Hey, are you okay?” Betty asked, concern evident in her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he mumbled.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Sorry, I’m kind of a mess,” he laughed. “And no, I’m good honest.”

“No, you’re not,” she said kindly, her voice insistent, “a mess I mean. It’s an emotional day, the first day you drop them off at big kid school.” 

“Yeah, apparently,” he said, wishing that he had something to hide under. He pulled his beanie down further on to his ears.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?”

“No, honestly, I’m fine,” he said earnestly. “Just emotional is all.”

She nodded and looked down at her coffee.

“I’m taking Juniper and Dagwood to the park on Thursday,” she said, resting her hand on his arm gently from across the table, “You want to join? You can bring your daughter.” 

“Sounds really good,” he nodded, touching his hand to hers briefly before she pulled away, taking the last sip of her coffee and throwing the cup in the recycling.

“I’ve got to run, work you know, do you know your way back?” she asked, sifting through her pockets for her keys and her cellphone. 

“Uh, yeah, I only live a few blocks away, I might just walk home and get the car later.”

Betty looked up at him in surprise.

“Where do you live?” she asked, then her eyes widened again. “I’m so sorry, that sounded so creepy.”

“No, it’s fine,” he laughed, ”And on Birch? Near the end.”

“No way!” she exclaimed. “Polly and Daniel live on Birch! You’re practically neighbors.”

“Well, uh, that’s nice,” he laughed, feeling slightly nervous and hopeful that it would mean he got to see her again soon.

He stood awkwardly when she did and tried to decide if she was going to go for a hug or a handshake or anything at all.

She looked like she was going to say something, her mouth opening slightly and her eyebrows raising, but she changed her mind and just smiled instead.

“Thanks again for the coffee,” he said suddenly, his voice cracking.

_ Wow, what are you, 16?  _ He thought to himself.

She smiled anyways and went in for the hug. He hugged her gratefully, her arms around his neck and her body pressed up against his.

Her hair smelled like coconut and the scent made his stomach clench pleasantly and involuntarily.

“I’ll see you Thursday?” she asked, pulling away, “we can walk there from school.”

"Sounds good," he said.  "Betty, thanks again. Seriously, I... just thanks."

"You're welcome, Jughead Jones," she replied, smiling like she was trying to hold it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's another one. The next chapter will show a lot of the backstory of Cynthia's mom - so stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

The first two days of dropping Cynthia off at school had been a piece of cake compared to the third. 

_ Cynthia _ didn’t make it hard on the third day. 

_ He _ did. 

He made her lunch (at her request) and she got dressed easily and quickly, organized as she was. She packed her bag after announcing to him that she had finished her homework for the whole week on Tuesday, which, she made sure to mention, was way earlier than it was due. She (sort of) helped him clean the dishes from the eggs he’d made for breakfast and put her shoes and socks on without a fight. 

But when she was gone, dropped off into her little world of math and reading and kindergarten friends… he was in the house alone.

The home was nice, big from the outside and white and built in the Colonial style that felt older than it was. Jughead loved the old moulding and floors, how they squeaked when he walked up the stairs to the second floor and how the pipes ached when he ran the hot water for Cynthia’s bath. They had an old claw-foot tub in the downstairs bathroom. The house felt extra special and unique; most other houses he’d looked at featured an open floor plan, which seemed to be the standard for houses these days. 

All the rooms in this house were separate, the dining room from the kitchen and the living room from the family room. Sometimes it felt like a maze and he liked that.

It had romantic lighting, too. The sun streamed in through the east windows in the morning and set through the west windows as twilight came. The walls lit up at different times of day and Jughead loved watching the bright sun of the morning crossover his daughter’s cheeks when he came in to wake her up in the morning and how the blinds sent lines that didn’t quite match the patterns of the hardwood across the floors. The bulbs in the old chandeliers or light fixtures or whatever they were called glowed in the way that only old light bulbs could, warm and yellow on Cynthia’s face as she did her homework. He’d had a painter come in and tear down most of the wallpaper before they moved in, having the realtor let the team in so the walls were crisp white for their arrival. 

There was a table in the dining room now, an ultra modern piece made of wood and glass to poetically juxtapose the old house. Jughead supposed that the way things interacted mattered more to him than the average person. (They ate dinner at it that night with paper napkins and plates but it still felt homey and he was  _ happy _ .)

There were rugs now too, picked up from various antique shops across town and he bought a couch from some discount furniture store in the industrial part of the city and dragged it across the threshold by himself using a loading dolly. 

They finished Cynthia’s room too. She picked out a a big floral rug and a green metal bed frame and he couldn’t help but swell when he saw her leaning up against it that night, looking through a photo album of pictures of her when she was a baby.

He was fine until that album ended up on his desk where he was supposed to be working and pain wracked his heart and his soul and his body like a storm that had been brewing for months. 

The weird thing about grief was that it hits at unexpected times. Years could pass and time made everything feel okay but then something triggered a small memory and the floodgates opened. That little album on his computer was all that it took to send him reeling this time. 

He saw moments flashing before his eyes like the worst movie ever, scenes he wanted so badly to stop. 

Ashley, young and sweaty, holding Cynthia against her chest in the hospital room, her eyes full of tears and love and joy.

Ashley, her dark hair tied up into a ponytail as she sat on the floor of Cynthia’s nursery, taping pictures into the photo album with care as their daughter slept next to her in the bassinet.

Ashley, holding her arms out for their baby to take her first unstable steps into.

Ashley, laughing and joking while laying on the couch, tired, tired, tired. 

Ashley, in a hospital bed. 

It had been two and a half years and he still couldn’t close his eyes on some days without seeing the scenes, flashing around him like some overplayed carousel scene in an early 2000’s movie.

The feelings of shame rushed back to his brain.

He felt like a failure of a dad, taking Cynthia away from the city she’d known her whole time, the apartment that all her memories of her mom were in. He knew that with the passing months, she was less and less likely to remember Ashley, that eventually the memories would fade into rehearsed scenes her brain made from stories he’d told her. 

He sank down to the floor of his empty entry way and cried fat, sad tears.

* * *

He felt better once Cynthia was back from school, sitting at the kitchen table with her bowl of carrots and accompanying ranch and talking and talking and talking about what they learned during math and what book she devoured during silent reading and how many times she could go back and forth on the monkey bars during recess and the new friend that she made on the playground.

“You wanna go to the park after school tomorrow?” he asked while he cut the chicken he was preparing for dinner. 

“Sure,” she shrugged, taking a loud bite of her carrot and chomping down on it. “Who’s going to be there?”

“Remember that woman, Betty, from the store?”

“No.”

“The one who picked out your dress.”

“Oh! She had pretty hair.”

He laughed. “She has a niece and nephew who go to your school. She invited us to go with her if you want to go. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“That sounds fun!” Cynthia replied brightly before launching into another tirade of school-related knowledge. He smiled to himself and moved to cut the broccoli. 

* * *

Thursday was easier in the turnstyle of grief. He had made it past another valley and was up climbing another mountain. Thick and thin, he pushed on and he was pushing on past… whichever of those this was.

He walked to the coffee shop that Betty had taken him to the day before and got a chocolate croissant and a coffee and then ordered another croissant when the first one disappeared much too quickly. He walked along the rows of brick lined houses and let himself breath in the fresh, late-summer air. He brought his laptop and wrote some at the coffee shop, tapping away at the shallow keys while he gulped down another cup of black coffee. 

As he was heading out the door to head back to the school, he paused and walked back up to the counter.

“Can I get two coffees to go?” he asked the barista, pulling out his card and handing it to her. 

“Sure thing, room for cream?” 

“Uh, yeah. In one, please.”

The barista nodded and handed him his card, asking if he wanted a receipt. Jughead shook his head and stood by the waiting counter, checking his phone obsessively for the time.

When the drinks came out, he opened the top of one and poured half-and-half in, filling the cup to the top and watching as the milk mixed in, swirling into a warm caramel color. 

_ Little things, _ he thought to himself.

The older kids were just starting to run across the grass to their parents cars when Jughead arrived at the school. He walked towards Cynthia’s classroom and waited for her to pop out, taking another sip of his coffee. 

“Daddy!” Cynthia squealed as she ran up to him. He crouched down to receive her hug and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

“Is that for me?” she asked curiously, looking at the extra cup in his hand.

“You can try it, but I don’t think you’ll like it…” he said as he held the cup he’d been drinking from out for her.

“That’s yucky,” she said, pulling a face as she took a sip. “I don’t know why you drink that stuff.”

“Maybe you’ll like it when you’re a grown up.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, her eyebrows furrowing skeptically before her eyes went wide with another thought. “Are we going to the park now?” 

Jughead stood up straight and looked over the crowd’s for their park-going pals.

“We’re just waiting for Betty,” he said as he spotted her and waved her over.

There were two eight-year olds bickering in front of her

“This is Dagwood and Juniper,” Betty said perkily, gesturing to her niece and nephew in front of her and nudging their shoulders gently. “Say hi!”

“Hi,” they echoed and Jughead had to laugh.

“I’m Cynthia,” she interjected.

“Ready to go to the park?” Jughead asked.

Betty’s niece and nephew immediately took off, the girl taking Cynthia in tow and asking her a ton of questions about kindergarten.

“Hi,” Betty said, her voice twinkling in Jughead’s ears.

“Hi. This is for you,” he said sheepishly, holding out the cup and looking down. She took a sip.

“You remembered,” she said with a big smile and a slight blush. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he mumbled as she lead them towards.

“Seriously, I needed this,” she sighed in bliss as she drank again. “Work was awful.

“I’m a journalist actually. Plus part-time nanny, of course. My parents own  _ The Register _ and I write a lot of the human interest pieces.”

“Ah,” he laughed, “All about the gossip then?”

“Human interest is  _ not _ gossip,” she said, glaring slightly at him.

“What do you call it then?” he asked curiously.

“It’s about Riverdale residents and their families,” she said as she looked thoughtfully at her cup for a few moments, “It’s about the stories that give people hope when everything else has gone to crap.”

“It gives people hope then,” he shrugged. “I get it.”

“It’s not just gossip to you then?” she said, her eyes narrowing playfully.

“I have layers,” he shrugged again with a smile. She hid her smile behind her lips and they walked in silence for a few moments. 

* * *

“So, now that you know I’m not some stalker, where exactly do you live?” she asked as they sat on the bench on the side of the playground, watching the kids run off some energy.

“At 89? I think the old tenants name was Spellman?”  

“Yeah, I know it,” she said, her voice going soft.

He looked at her sideways, slightly confused. 

“What?” he urged.

“Nothing.”

“C’mon, tell me.”

“That’s big house,” she said, her voice small. She paused. “For the two of you.”

He got it finally, what she was getting at, and he took a deep breath before answering. 

“Yeah, it’s… it’s just us,” he said, tugging at a loose string at the bottom of his flannel. She was looking at him thoughtfully, without pity but with a lot sympathy and something else that he couldn’t place. 

“You… you don’t owe me an explanation, Jughead,” Betty rushed to say. 

“Her mom, uh… her name was Ashley. She died two years ago.”

Betty bit her lip and looked at him sideways, surprise filling her features. “I’m so sorry.”

“Its okay… well, it’s not okay honestly, but it will be,” he said, watching Cynthia as she swung back and forth on the swings, the twins taking turns pushing her. “We get by.”

“I honestly can’t imagine,” she said earnestly, her voice catching, “I know everyone just does their best but… I don’t know. Must be so hard.”

“Yeah,” he said awkwardly.

Cynthia's laugh caught his attention and his heart warmed a few degrees. 

“With a kid like Cynthia and a husband like you, she must have been wonderful,” she said, her voice sweet and soft, bumping their shoulders together, trying to lighten the mood. Jughead tried to focus on anywhere but her full bottom lip. 

“We uh, we weren’t married actually,” he said with a chuckle, his face pulling an amused look without trying. Her eyes widened and she started to back pedal.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“Betty,” he laughed, “it’s fine. Honestly. It’s not a sore subject.”

“I…” she hesitated. 

“Let it go. It’s fine.” 

“Okay… okay, if you say so.”

“We weren’t married but we were happy, you know?” Jughead said, the words slipping out of his mouth with the feeling that he was grossly over-sharing and yet he looked at Betty and felt like he couldn’t stop, “Cynthia was such a surprise, I mean, we were practically kids but… we were happy for a while there.”

Betty nodded and bit her lip, turning back to the playground with a furrowed brow.

“Breast cancer.” Jughead said, answering the question he knew she was wondering about. 

“What?” she said, clearly startled.

“She died of Er/Pr+ HER2 breast cancer.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice soft as she nodded again and rubbed the palms of her hands with her fingers. “She... how old was she?”

“25,” he replied, his voice catching on the words.

“God,” Betty said with a sniffle. He looked to her and saw her eyes filled with tears.

“Hey, hey, Betty, it’s okay,” he said instantly, moving closer to put his arm around her. 

She gave him a disbelieving look, her green eyes looking up at him and making his heart pitter patter in his chest.

“You just said two minutes ago that it’s not okay,” she laughed wetly, patting her eyes with her fingers.

“Well…,” he started then laughed, “Yeah, I guess I did.” 

The spell was broken and he took a moment to cough and pull away, running his fingers through the back of his hair nervously, pulling the hand back down when he heard a voice in his head,  _ stop that. _

“Hey, Jughead?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for telling me all that,” she said, her voice so sincere that he had to stop himself from kissing her. “You didn’t have to and I’m sure it’s really hard and I really appreciate it.” 

“Feels good to talk about her really,” he admitted, kicking at a twig with the tip of his sneaker. “Sometimes I feel like… like she wasn’t real if I don’t get to talk about her sometimes. Like she was just a really good figment of realistic imagination.”

"Yeah," she said simply.

"Thanks for listening," he said. "And for not playing the pity thing or acting... different I guess."

“Well,” Betty replied, her eyes looking up at him as he wondered if this was an inappropriate time to try to flirt with her, “I’m always here if that figment feels a little too far away."

He smiled genuinely and tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... there's the truth about Cynthia's mom! What do you think? 
> 
> http://bit.ly/CynthiasBedroom -> Cynthia’s bedroom


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He felt like Romeo, in love with a girl across the room. 'Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and temperate.'"

Jughead couldn’t get Betty Cooper out of his head. The way her hair smelled as it tickled his cheek. The content little sigh she gave as she took her first sip of coffee. The way her lips wrapped around the mouth of her to-go cup and how she licked her lips after. The sound of her laugh and the sparkle in her eyes and the way a blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. How the light hit her perfectly and made his thoughts go completely poetic. 

It wasn’t even just her looks. It was how caring she was, how thoughtful and observant she was. How she took him out to coffee because he was crying about his daughter in the school yard and how she almost cried herself when he told her about Ashley and how good her heart was, taking care of her sister and her niece and nephew and somehow even him.

He felt like Romeo, in love with a girl across the room.  _ Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and temperate.  _ He felt like a schoolboy with a fat crush, counting down the moments until he got to see her in class again. At its core, it really was a crush. The flutter in his stomach when she smiled at him and how his palms got sweaty the closer she stood to him. He had a crush on her bouncing blonde ponytail and her big green eyes and the way that she cared for people and most of all, it felt like he has a big fat crush on the person that she was on the inside. 

He  _ could not _ get her out of his head.

He couldn’t help but wonder about her either, about her past and her childhood and every little detail about her. What sports she played in high school. When her birthday was. What her sister was like. How her lips taste and what she sounded like when she begged for another kiss and -

Dammit. Sidetracked again.

His head dropped to the sturdy wood of his work desk and he banged it against the oak repeatedly. 

_ Stop thinking about Betty Cooper. Stop thinking about Betty Cooper. Stop thinking about Betty Cooper. _

They’d gotten into a routine after a few weeks of school. He brought her a cup of coffee to elementary school pick up at least one day a week. She smiled shyly and tucked her hair behind her ear, the blush reaching her cheeks no matter how hard she tried to hide it. On Thursdays they went to the park, rambling along as the kids run behind and in front and behind again. Cynthia brought her friend one week and the little kid assimilated well. 

He and Betty touched more now too, he realized. She put her hand on his arm as a thank you. He lead her through the crowd with a fingers lingering at the small of her back. She bumped his shoulders and gave him hello and goodbye hugs. 

She was sweet to Cynthia too. A natural with kids, probably from being around her sister’s kids so often. She listened thoughtfully to all his daughter’s ramblings and the two of them exchanged high fives whenever Cynthia brought a green card with a gold star on it (a signifier of the highest level of kindergarten good behavior) to the pick up area and proudly showed it off.

It became something he looked forward to. He found himself tugging on and messing with his hair after finishing Cindy’s braids or pigtails. He pulled out an old bottle of cologne he hasn’t touched in years and sprays some on in the morning. He even ironed one of his flannels before shaking it off and talking himself out of it. 

As he was trying to bring himself back to reality, his phone rang.

“Jughead! Man!” Archie’s voice called from the other end of the phone. “Long time, no talk!”

“Hey, Arch,” Jughead breathed a sigh of relief, thankful it wasn’t his editor riding his ass for the next chapter of his book, and perhaps even more thankful to hear his best friend’s voice after a couple weeks of radio silence. 

“How’s Riverdale?”

“Same as every small town ever. There’s a diner with surprisingly good burgers. Lots of sunshine and happiness and sunshine-y happy people.”

“You could use a good dose of that,” Archie joked, “Even Holden Caulfield needs some positivity sometimes, you know.”

“Have you even  _ read _ that book? Scratch that, could you even tell me what book that’s from?”

“Well… no. But Ronnie says it and so I’ll say it too.”

“Whatever,” Jughead laughed, Archie’s carefree attitude lifting his spirits with each passing moment. 

“How’s Cindy?”

“Obnoxious now that she’s reading. Asks so many questions”

“Will you guys call me sometime? I miss my goddaughter, you know.”

“Yeah, we’ll call this weekend. Evenings can be hectic around here. Homework, dinner, packing lunch, ya know. Adulthood. Hell.”

“I’m sure you’re hating it.”

“No, I’m being stupid. It’s good honestly. Cynthia likes her school. She’s making friends. She… she seems happy.”

“I’m glad… Anything else new?” Archie asked in a voice that’s a little too nonchalant. 

“Arch…”

“You meet anyone?” His tone was uncharacteristically sensitive. 

“I… kind of.”

“Yeah, man!” Archie exclaimed and Jughead could see his first pump from hundreds of miles away.

“Her name’s Betty. Her sister’s kids go to school with Cindy.”

“And? Have you asked her out?”

“Arch…” Jughead felt like he was saying it for the thousandth time. How many times had he said Archie’s name in that exact tone over the years?

“I’m not pressuring you, man, but if you like her go for it.”

“I’ve only known her for like a month.”

“You’ve been alone for a long time.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Jughead muttered.

“Two years, Jug.”

“Feels like yesterday.”

Jughead could hear Archie’s sigh through the phone and felt the immediacy of the melancholy that settled over the conversation.

“Have you talked to anyone?” Archie asked.

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” 

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“It would help.”

“What do  _ you _ know?”

“Don’t do this, Jug. It would help. You know it would.”

“I don’t want to. What if they tell me I’m fucked up beyond help?”

“Do it for Cindy then. Maybe it’ll help you be a better dad.”

“You saying I’m a bad father?”

“Oh shut up, Jug, you know what I mean.”

Jughead sighed, shaking the anger off. “Sorry. Just… it’s just hard.”

“You can vent to me all you want, honest, but eventually my help will lack professional knowledge.”

“No, you’re right, you’re right.”

“I can call around and-” 

“Nah, I can do it. Just annoying is all.” 

“I’m proud of you, Jug.” Archie said softly, his voice almost betraying the emotion behind his words. “I… there were times when I thought… I thought maybe we wouldn’t make it. Maybe  _ you _ wouldn’t make it. But… you always figure it out. It’s rough sometimes but you always get there.”

Jughead attempted not to be as touched as he was but he gave up quickly. “Don’t think I could have done it without you.”

“Love you, brother.”

“Love ya, Arch. Talk to you this weekend.”

“Bye, man.” 

The second the phone hung up, Jughead’s thoughts were back to Betty and his head was back to being banged on his desk.

* * *

 

He took his promise to Archie seriously and scheduled an appointment with a local expert for the following Tuesday while Cynthia was in school. It was quite possibly the last thing on earth that he actually wanted to do, but a promise was a promise and he wasn’t going to let down the best friend that had gotten him through years of turbulent childhood. 

Then he dragged himself out of the confines of his home to buy more stuff for the house. Furnishing a house was not only time-consuming but expensive and annoying. There was always something else to do, another thing he needed to buy and another piece of furniture to move and/or construct. A bedside table for Cynthia to put her glass of water on. A new cutting board since the one that he had was gross and white and plastic and had certainly seen better days. A coffee table for in front of the couch when he realized he had nowhere to put his beer on Friday nights when he watched _The Godfather_ or _Kill Bill: Part I_ by himself after Cynthia had gone to sleep. 

Nonetheless, he tried to go somewhere besides the school once a day, the coffee shop or the store or just somewhere that made him feel less alone and got him up and outside and out of the world of his laptop screen and his novels. The task turned into running errands most of the time.

What he wasn’t expecting was to run into Betty at Target on a random Friday afternoon.

He’d recognize her anywhere, her ponytail pulled back tightly and the way that his heart started beating a little faster at the sight of her in dark wash jeans and a white shirt. He took a deep breath and willed his voice not to shake as he took a couple steps closer. 

“Strange seeing you here,” Jughead said. She whipped around and her face broke into a smile that felt like sunshine.

“Small towns only have one place to buy most things. You run into most people at some point.” She leaned in and gave him a big hug, wrapping her arms around his neck and forcing his cheeks against the soft fabric of her top and his arms around her waist. She was warm against him, his hands at her lower back and the smell of her perfume in his mouth. He tried to think of anything but where his hands would be if they slid four inches south and he pulled away quickly.

He looked her up and down, scanning as fast as he could so he looked minimal amounts of creepy, the peak of cleavage that was flirting with the neckline of her pale ivory shirt and how her jeans hugged her hips just right.

_ Fuck _ , he thought.  _ Stop being such a perv. _

“I uh, like your shirt,” he squeaked.

She gave him a weird look accompanied by a smile. “Thanks? I think. I can’t tell if you’re lying or not.”

“I’m not. It’s a nice color on you,” he coughed, frantically thinking of a way to save. “It… brings out your eyes.”

She beamed at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with laughter. “Thanks, Jughead.” 

“You’re welcome,” he all but stuttered.

His palms were doing that sweaty thing again and his stomach was clenching unpleasantly as his nerves grew. 

“Replacement vacuum?” she asked, gesturing to the massive box in his cart. 

“Yeah, definitely a replacement and not at all the first one that I’ve bought... ever,” Jughead chuckled sheepishly, running his hand through the back of his hair.

She laughed and sent his heart lurching.

The feelings came flooding into him in a moment and he was talking before he could stop the word-vomit from pouring out of his mouth. It occurred to him in a fleeting thought that he couldn’t really keep a hold on that he hadn’t felt this way in a long time, that this was maybe the first time in a long time that these butterflies hadn’t gone away after getting to know someone better and that he needed to see her more often. 

“Hey, wouldyouwanttohavedinnerwithmesometime?” he said.

She smiled and again, his stomach gave a flutter.

“Of course,” she smiled, taking a step closer to him and reaching into his pocket. He looked down at her hands alarmingly before he realized she was taking his phone and entering her number into his contacts. She handed the phone back to him and he took it with sweaty palms. “No rush, okay? You’re still settling in and all that.”

“Well, now that I have a vacuum I think I’m totally settled,” he laughed.  _ Why did he feel so sweaty?  _

“A vacuum the home does make,” she quipped.

“Yeah, that and furniture which I think I’m finally close to done buying.”

“Moves are hard,” Betty agreed.

He was lost for what to say but Betty stepped in.

“By the way, once you’re settled and when we go out to dinner, you can leave Cynthia with Polly and the twins. They’d be happy the watch them.” She clasped her hands in front of her over the bath towels she was holding. 

“Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly. “I don’t want to be-” 

“They may or may not have told me that if the occasion should ever arise, they’d be happy to watch any children that were involved,” she said, trying to be nonchalant but he could see her blush a little. 

“You just accepting dates from any random guy off the street then?” he teased. “You secretly on the hunt for a pathetic single dad who recently moved to a new town and doesn’t have a babysitter yet?” 

“Juniper and Dagwood may have mentioned you a time or two,” she admitted, blushing. “Polly got curious.”

“Why would they mention me?” he asked in fake-mocking tone, placing his hand on his chest. 

“Shut up, Jug,” she said as she rolled her eyes and bumped his shoulder with hers. “You know what I mean.” 

“Well if it’s any consolation, Cindy talks a fair amount about you, too,” he laughed.

He can feel the mood in the conversation shift as she looks at him thoughtfully.

“She’s really great, Jughead,” she said softly, her eyes big and serious, all the joking from her voice is gone. “You should be really proud of her.” 

He couldn’t help the blush that crawled up his neck onto his cheeks and he thought it must be the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to him. “I… thanks.”

“And I’m not sure if anyone’s told you or if you hear it all that often but…,” she paused, like she was thinking seriously about what she was going to say next, placing her hand on his arm decidedly. “You’re a really good dad. I’m sure it’s not easy but you’re doing a really amazing job on your own.”

The words hit him unexpectedly and he wonders how she knows, that he’s been struggling and feeling like a failure. How guilty he feels having Cindy grow up without a mother and how his best friend told him he needs to see a therapist. Pulling Cynthia away from her home and pushing her into a new school and in addition to that all the worries that just hit him when he became a parent. Was she happy? Was she safe? Was he doing a good job? 

He was speechless and must have looked it. He grasped for something to say.

“I’ve had a lot of help,” he tried.

“Everyone has a lot of help, Jug,” she said matter-of-factly, “but a lot of people also have two parents. You’re doing a kick ass job” 

Her eyes went back to joking and he could tell that she was trying to be nice without being overbearing and making everything weird. It was in that moment that he remembered they were having this conversation in the middle of a Target. 

He reached up and squeezed the hand that was resting on his shoulder, feeling more and more like Betty Cooper had to be one of the most special people he’d ever met. 

“I’m sorry if that overstepped some boundary. I just thought you should know,” she said. 

“You didn’t. I, uh, honestly probably needed to hear that.” 

“I’ll tell you anytime,” she replied, her eyes sparkling and her hand still under his. She twisted her hand around and squeezed his fingers with her own and he could feel the butterflies in his stomach more than ever.  “Also, I’m very much so looking forward to that date.”

“Me too, you have no idea,” he breathed and then laughed when he realized how desperate and eager he sounded.

“We’re both adults here,” she said with a shrug and a smile, adjusting the pile of towels in her arms. “No use acting like we don’t feel it.”

“Can I pick you up on Saturday?”

“You really don’t have to; I can meet you there.”

“I want to. Let me pick you up.”

“Okay.” She nodded, hiding a smile.

“Is dinner and a movie okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” she nodded again and stopped trying to hide the smile that bloomed over his face and made throat tighten. 

“Saturday? I mean, tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she laughed. 

A thought occurred to him. 

“Should I pick you up at Polly’s?” He scratched the back of his head. “If the offer is still good for them to watch Cynthia.”

“Yup. Let’s do 5. We can be home in time for you to put Cynthia to bed.”

His heart warmed at how thoughtful she was, thinking about how he hates not to be there to tuck Cindy in, wondering if it was obvious that he was that type of parent or if it something she'd picked up from her sister. Either way, i t was unsettling how well she already knew him. 

“Yeah,” he agreed with a smile, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

They walked to the front of the store and checked out, walking slowly towards the door like he didn’t want the interaction to end. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jughead.” 

“Not-” 

“I won’t be at school this afternoon,” she added hastily. “I have a big article I need to finish up and I’m going to my parents for dinner.”

“I’ll… see you tomorrow then,” he replied, slightly disappointed. “5 o’clock with a 5 year old in tow.”

“It’s a date,” she said, with a final squeeze to his hand. 

He waved slightly as she walked to her car and tried not to think about the fact that he could probably Google her articles and submerse himself in her writing for a few hours when he got home.

Even after seeing her, Jughead couldn’t get Betty Cooper out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... they're finally going on a date!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If he thought that he was being ridiculous with his getting ready routine before seeing Betty at the school, he knew he was being absolutely ludicrous while he got ready for their first date."

If he thought that he was being ridiculous with his getting ready routine before seeing Betty at the school, he knew he was being absolutely ludicrous while he got ready for their first date.

He’d spent the whole morning cleaning the house (and breaking in his new vacuum) thinking about things he could talk about with her. Cynthia had spent the morning playing in their backyard as he did dishes and looked out the big window over the sink, watching her pick dandelions from the grass that desperately needed mowing and singing little she made up songs to herself.

It made him more sure about his decision, about moving them here. She got to be a kid with a backyard. They got to go to local parks free of air pollution and sirens and intravenous drug paraphernalia. It was a cool September morning and she was wearing her favorite princess dress with her rain boots (he had no clue why) and she just looked happy to have a space that felt like her own.

He couldn’t help but run after her in the backyard and chase her, swinging her around as she shrieked and giggled for awhile before getting back to his chores and getting ready for the evening.

He forwent the beanie in favor of hair that he spent much too long arranging. Cynthia sat on his bed while he scrolled through his shirts for the millionth time, pulling one out and deciding that it wasn’t nice enough. He had a grand total of two pairs of shoes and could not for the life of him decide if he wanted to wear converse or his nicer wingtips.

He had looked on Yelp for what felt like hours in order to find the perfect place to take her, scanning the restaurant reviews for some place that didn’t say “noisy” but did say “romantic.” “Great first date spot” got an extra high consideration on his list and eventually he was able to settle on a very normal and unassuming looking Italian place in a quiet and safe part of downtown. Good enough prices to look like he was trying to impress her but not too good like he was going to walk away with a triple-digit bill.

She really did make him a nervous wreck.

“You ready to go to Juniper and Dagwood’s?” he asked Cynthia, finally having settled on a navy plaid and black jeans and his trusty old Converse sneakers. She jumped up and grabbed her backpack, apparently full of books that she wanted to show her friends and chatted her way into the car.

“Daddy, where are you going again?” she asked as she buckled herself into her booster.

“Betty and I are going out to dinner and to see a grown up movie,” he replied, leaning in to help her pull the strap across her body.

“And that’s why I can’t go? Because it’s a grownup movie?”

“And you’d probably think it’s boring. You’ll have more fun with Dag and Junie anyways,” he said resolutely, closing her door and starting the car.

“Okay,” she said with a shrug, looking out the window as he drove the whole block to the house.

He knocked anxiously on her sister’s door, trying to calm his heartbeat and not think about how long it’d been since he’d been on a first date. The feeling of Cynthia’s fingers in his helped a little bit.

She opened the door and greeted them warmly, inviting them in and stepping out of the way.

“Hey, Juliet,” he joked, his mouth a little dry.

“Dad, her name is _Betty_ ,” Cynthia said with wide eyes, tugging on his hand. Jughead rolled his eyes and Betty laughed. Juniper and Dagwood ran to the door, dragging Cynthia in and showing her all around their house.

“Bye, Daddy! Have fun at your grown up movie!” she said as she looked back over her shoulder at him.

“Come back for a hug and kiss, you stinker!”

She ran back to him and jumped into his arms, full of giggles as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Love you, Cindy,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“Love you!” she said briefly, hopping back down out of his arms and running into another room.

When he stood back up, Betty was looking at him with such warmth in her eyes that he felt like he might melt under her gaze.

“Are you ready?” he asked, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she said as she grabbed her purse off of the table sitting in the entryway and shook her head slightly, like she was trying to snap out of something. She called out upstairs, “Bye, guys! Thanks again, Polly!”

They stood on the stoop as she locked the front door and then turned to him with a big, gorgeous smile.

“Hi,” she said happily, sliding under his arm for a half-hug.

“Hi. You look really nice,” he said honestly. And she did, in a pale blue dress and a sweater and little flat sandals. Her hair was down with some of the sides swept off her face, the soft blonde curls falling down onto her shoulders.

“You do too,” she said, squeezing his upper arm and then grasping his hand in hers.

“It was the best I could do,” he said, shrugging. “Not a whole lot of date clothes in my wardrobe.”

“I think you look great,” she said, biting her lip as she smiled. “I’m really happy we could do this.”

“Me too,” he said honestly, her smile making him smile too.

They small-talked about their weeks in the car, how she Dagwood had a huge meltdown about math homework and about how he’d been working on the house while Cynthia was playing. He was startled with the realization that their conversations had entirely revolved around the kids and he made a resolution to stop that at dinner.

He could see how people fell in love with Riverdale when it was like this, the kind of late summertime when the sunshine made the day scorching hot and then it disappeared and cooled down significantly, leaving long shadows against the brick buildings and natural green lawns. The cicadas buzzed as he remembered to open the car door for Betty and they drove the restaurant discussing popular music.

They went to the Italian place that was supposed to be good for first dates and they ordered a glass of wine each (Jughead couldn’t remember the last time he’d had wine) and they split a bruschetta appetizer and even though the sun hadn’t even gone down yet, Betty was glowing in the light of the little flickering candles on the table in between them on the patio of the restaurant.

“So, I realized I don’t know that much about you,” he said sheepishly, pushing his fettucini around the plate. “You know quite a bit about me.”

“Well, what do you want to know about me?”

“I… I didn’t actually think about it,” he laughed. She looked at him both puzzled and amused. “What was your childhood like?”

She laughed and took a thoughtful bite of her risotto. “In three words: typical and suburban and complicated.”

“And…?”

“And we grew up here with my parents, who are great most of the time but very overbearing. They pushed us to do well. I did a lot of sports and extracurriculars and my actual childhood was pretty picture-perfect.”

“What about after childhood?”

“I think that’s third date material,” she laughed, obviously avoiding the question and taking a large sip of her wine.

“Lay it on me. I can handle it.”

“Well,” she sighed, “Polly got pregnant while we were in high school. She was a senior and I was a sophomore. Her being pregnant was a big enough deal on its own, but… are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Yes,” Jughead replied surely, her trepidation making him positive.

“Daniel isn’t the twins dad. Jason is or was or … whatever. And he passed away during Polly’s senior year.”

“Shit,” Jughead said with a low exhale.

“Yeah, it was awful and honestly, it’s kind of a long story. My parents sent her away to a convent and…  and then on top of that, there’s just lots of other stuff in the family, affairs and a half-brother who’s… a character at best and it was just kind of a rough point in my life I guess.”

He nodded. He understood.

She looked up at him with unsure eyes. “I hope that didn’t freak you out.”

“It’s good to know you’re not perfect,” he said seriously. “I was beginning to think you didn’t have a flaw.”

“I’m chock full of them, I promise,” she laughed, rubbing her palms in what he assumed was a sign of nerves.

“I highly doubt that but whatever you say.”

The candles fluttered in the breeze and the shadows elongated on her face.

"Did I mention you look really beautiful?" he said suddenly, the words spilling out.

"Not quite, but I hoped you thought so," she said with a grin and a blush. 

He pushed his food around on his plate in an awkward moment. 

“What about your childhood?” she asked curiously, breaking the silence for him. 

“Definitely third date material,” he laughed.

“I told you,” she said, a slight pout on her face.  

“I promise I’ll tell you,” he decided on saying. “It’s a long story and it’s not a very happy one either. I… I don’t want to ruin my mood with stuff like that.”

She gives him a small smile and takes another sip of wine.

“I… my dad was around but not really. My mom wasn’t around but kind of was. It’s all very… Dickensian.”

“Never was a big fan of his work,” she chuckled, her fork emphasizing her words.

“Yeah, me neither,” he admitted with a dark laugh.

“Another time then,” she said softly, her eyes twinkling.

“Maybe on our second date,” he said, the flirty words coming out before he could stop them.

She grinned and took a pointed bite of her salad.

He thought she must be an angel, sitting across the table from him in the candlelight and coaxing him to talk about his past.

* * *

The date was comfortable, albeit a little awkward at times as conversation always would be at some point. They talked about his house and his new book and his writers block and her job and where she went to school and her favorite restaurants in Riverdale. He insisted on taking the bill and even though she tried to take it, she looked up at him gratefully and squeezed his hand as she said thank you and he couldn’t help but get a little pitter patter in his stomach.

At the Bijou, they sat in the middle of the empty theater behind the handicap row so they could prop their feet up on the bar in front of them. He ordered the big popcorn and Cokes for both of them and he even put his arm around her, pushing the nerves that erupted when the thought popped into his mind, laughing as she made under her breath comments at the parts of the movie’s plot where suspension of disbelief just didn’t cut it.

She snuggled up under his arm and he felt her breath on his neck and against his ear, her lips inches away from the sensitive skin and he tried desperately to push how turned on it was making him down into a part of his brain he could tap into later for further processing.

She was witty and funny and had a fun and unique sense of humor that he hadn’t expected from her. Slightly raunchy and definitely not pastel and ponytail appropriate.

Eventually the night came to an end and as they walked to the car, she took his hand in hers and intertwined their fingers, looking down at them and blushing slightly like she was asking if it was okay.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he said instead of a response.

“I did too, Jughead.”

They held hands the whole way home, their fingers intertwined over his trucks gear shift and he couldn’t help but think that maybe she would help him along in a good way, trying to redirect his guilt as best as he could when the feelings seeped into the happy, love-struck buzz he was feeling.

He pulled up to the curb in front of Polly’s house and raced around to open the door for her.

“Cynthia’s going to be so happy to see you,” she said, her eyes twinkling, hopping down onto the sidewalk and looking at her watch. “And it’s only 8 o’clock!”

“Yeah, probably,” he admitted sheepishly. “It was a really good idea to go early.”

“It was just common sense,” she said shyly.

“It was smart is what it was,” he laughed.

She glowed at his praise and unlocked the front door and opened it to a flurry of energy.

“Daddy!” Cynthia screeched when she spotted him, running towards him full speed in her white socks. He lifted her up and gave her a big kiss on the cheek, settling her on his hip.

“Hey, Cynds, how was your night?”

“It was so much fun! We played Candyland and I won and then we did a puzzle and ate pizza and I even got to have some ice cream,” she gushed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Wow, well that’s pretty special, isn’t it?” he laughed.

“Yes,” she said shortly. “Did you have fun at your grown up movie?”

“It was very good and you would have hated it.”

“Well good,” she giggled.

“You ready to go home?” he asked, then noticing Betty standing shyly in the corner, watching them. “Hey, do you need a ride?”

“Oh,” she said, looking thoroughly startled, like she’d been lost in thought, “No, Daniel can drive me home.”

“Don’t be silly, I can take you.”

“I’m kind of out of the way-”

“Well you’re either out of the way for me or for Daniel. I’m already driving somewhere.”

“I just-”

“I don’t care, c’mon, Betts,” he laughed. She finally gave in, running upstairs to bring Polly and Daniel down to say good night.

“Hey, thanks,” Jughead said, shaking their hands and holding Cynthia. “This was really nice of you and totally unnecessary.”

“Anytime,” they insisted and he decided that he liked them, the typical suburban parents standing in front of him in khakis and tennis skirts.

“Thank you,” Cynthia chimed in and Jughead looked down at her proudly, “the pizza was really good.”

They made plans for the park on Thursday with the kids and walked out into the cool night so Jughead could take them home. He buckled Cynthia in, the tiredness settling into her as she whined for him to do it for her. Betty chuckled from the front seat as she checked her phone and he threw a mock-glare in her direction. She bit her lip and suppressed a smile and he was struck with how sexy she was, thoughts that he promptly tried to push down.

He was thankful that this was casual. That there was no weird “meeting the daughter” thing and that it’s not weird that he’s driving her home and that their families are friends but it also made it harder, harder to imagine his days without her if this doesn’t work out or if he screws it up. The feelings at the back of his head wouldn’t let him rest and the quiet of the car ride didn’t help either, giving him time to get lost in his thoughts and overthink every reaction.

She gave him directions, pointing out streets where she did activities as a kid and he loved the sound of her voice as she talked and gave him more and more insight into her life.

They pulled up in front of her house and Jughead realized that in the entirety of the whopping five minute drive, Cynthia had managed to fall asleep in the back seat, so he left the car for a moment to front door of her townhouse.

They stood awkwardly on her front stoop, the cheery red door next to them as he tried to figure out.

She reached out and held his one hand in her both, the feeling making his lower back sweat and he couldn’t help but want her closer, feeling like he was drowning in her presence and the smell of her perfume and her proximity to him. .

“Thanks again,” she said, her big green eyes looking up at him, her full lips parting slightly as her face came up to meet his.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, his voice coming out squeaky.

It looked like she was going to lean in to kiss him.

His eyes fluttered shut.

But he didn’t lean down to press his lips against hers.

There was a pause, his eyes squeezed shut as he realized what he’d done. He hadn't leaned into her kiss. 

He opened his eyes slowly to look at her, her own eyes full of understanding and affection. She broke the silence as he turned to the car to glance at Cynthia quickly.

“Good night, Juggie,” Betty whispered, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek chastely instead, something on her lips leaving something slightly sticky on his cheek. He resisted the urge to wipe it away. "I had a really great time tonight.

She squeezed his hand a final time and he waited until he heard the door lock behind her before he walked back to the car.

The butterflies in his stomach went crazy and the thought of liking someone this much made him feel a little sick and the thought that he was falling this hard made it all so much more complicated.

She felt so right and yet he felt so wrong, wracked with guilt and sickness as he walked away towards the truck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... there's a new chapter coming very soon. Sorry this one took so long! What did you think? Not super romantic or fluffy, but there's lots of Betty and Jughead private moments coming in the chapter after next. So excited for you to read them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He was getting closer to the school with each and yet, he slowed his steps down, letting himself feel the moment, the heaviness of his heart and the mid-September sun on his face and the way that he felt in his heart that everything would be okay. Something in the back of his head told him he was headed in the right direction."

Jughead came out of his third appointment completely and utterly exhausted. 

A few weeks had passed and his relaxing weekend had ended and all of sudden he was walking into another lunchtime appointment at what seemed to be the only therapist’s office in town, one Doctor Lopez, a middle aged woman with soft brown eyes and a voice that matched. 

He knew it was going to be hard. It was always hard to talk about Ashley and consequently, Cynthia. The feelings of guilt of not being able to do more for Ashley as she got sicker and sicker and being a now single dad to his little girl and moving them away from Ashley’s family and Cynthia’s friends weighed heavy on his heart and made him feel everything in a way that made his heart feel like spaghetti, everything tripped up and twisted around until it was impossible to separate. 

They’d talked about different ways that people dealt with grief, about how guilt sometimes overrides everything else and how people have to rework the paths in their thoughts so they can move on with their lives, so they can stop living in a bubble with no comfort or closure. 

It was exhausting, to spill his metaphorical guts to someone he’d just met, to be put face to face with all the things that he’d been burying for the last few years. 

But it felt good, so good that the doctor extended his appointment to two hours and they still went over.

It felt good to be able to admit that 99% of the time he felt like he was floundering, that he sometimes had such overwhelming guilt about Ashley that he couldn’t even think of dating someone else and then feelings rushed in and the contradiction made him feel sick to his stomach. 

She doctor was nice, assuring him that this was all normal and asking him what he had wanted to work on. He hadn’t come up with anything and she’d told him that was okay. 

By the end, he just felt ready to take a nap. 

* * *

In his emotionally exhausted state, a stop at the cafe before school pick-up seemed extra necessary, the scent of coffee in the air immediately perking him up as he pushed the door open.

“Hi, what can I get you?” the girl behind the counter said, her voice extra chirpy. 

“Two large coffees, please.” He needed the caffeine, deciding ahead of ordering that it’d be weird to get Betty a small while he got a large.

“Is that all for today? No food?”

“No, just the coffees will be fine.” 

She read his total and smiled up at him through her lashes as she ran his credit card. 

“You’re in here a lot, aren’t you?” she asked, leaning forward slightly as she waited for his receipt to come out of the machine.

"Uh, I guess," he said confusedly. 

"I always notice when you come in," she said slowly.

She was  _ flirting _ with him, he realized suddenly. 

She looked to be around nineteen, with short, auburn hair and eager, yearning brown eyes and tanned olive skin. 

“You know, I could throw in a free pastry if you’re… hungry,” she said, her voice dripping with coquetry now. 

“I’m okay, thanks though,” he stuttered, completely unsure of how to handle someone flirting with him.

“Whatever you say,” she giggled, and he was struck with truly how young she must be despite the fact that she wore a Riverdale Community College sweatshirt under her barista apron.

She handed him the coffees and he went to the bar that held the half and half, pouring a generous amount into one of the cups before rushing out of the establishment in the direction of the school.

He let his thoughts carry him as he walked. 

It was weird, to have a girl flirting with him. He supposed that other women had hit on him at some point but he’d been so absorbed in his grief and in Cynthia that he probably hadn’t given it a second thought, chalking it up to being nice or being weird or an outlier of an experience. It felt wrong to be thinking about the possibility of this girl dating him, not with visions of blonde ponytails and pink sweaters in his head. 

Even with all the people that had flirted with him with and without his knowledge, it was weird to be flirted with. It was weird to have someone attracted to him. There wasn't a whole lot of romantic history in his life outside of a few make out sessions here and there.  He’d had a random girlfriend in high school, a relationship that seemed so pubescent now that it could hardly be considered a relationship. 

Then Ashley had come along. 

He remembers the first time he saw her, in a packed party in the city, her head throw back in her characteristic belly laugh with one of her friends. The way her hair hit her waist even in a ponytail, the black rings of makeup around her eyes, her jeans and her leather jacket. It was like something out of a teenage movie, the cheap party lights strobing around them as their eyes met across the table of liquor and at the time, Jughead felt like a little part of destiny had just happened.

The night had ended with her on top of him, drunk and sloppy and the most wonderful thing he’d ever felt. He’d had minimal experience before that and all he could think was that he hoped it felt as good for her as it did for him. 

They’d been so young and so in love, desperately obsessed with each other and stupidly lustful, taking each other in the bathrooms of bars they got into with fake IDs, staying up way past the time that they should have because they couldn’t get enough of each other, missing alarms in the morning and being late for work.

It’d been a while since he had felt passion like he felt that first year they were together. They moved in together less than six months of dating later, into a hole in the wall studio that had more than its fair share of cockroaches and less than enough space even for the two of them, who put together had less than a few suitcases worth of worldly possessions.

Their relationship was explosive and passionate and they yelled and threw things and then a positive pregnancy test came and the world of rum and Cokes and late nights and rent payments they had built together came crashing down, reality and adulthood thrown onto them unwillingly. 

They had adjusted. They’d worked through their issues and their anger and they were so young and full of hope that their little family evolved on its own. They argued about the baby’s name and pinched pennies to buy a crib and he worked harder than ever to get a deal with a publisher. 

Jughead would never forget the expression in Ashley’s eyes as she looked at Cynthia for the first time. 

They’d been in the hospital, Jughead’s hand numb from the squeezing and Ashley, so young and angelic in his memories, such a stark contrast to her final months, and Jughead held the tiny baby girl against his chest and cried tears of joy, something shifting deeply in his heart with the realization that he was responsible for a little human now and wondering how he got so lucky. 

The first year of parenthood aged Jughead more than he ever thought possible. It was hard to even think of himself as the same person that he was six or seven years ago. Brash and aggressive and pushing people away at any chance her got. He was constantly trying to prove himself and push the boundaries and was wildly preoccupied with the idea that he needed to be unique, true to the truest form of himself. Instead he was getting up in the middle of the night for changings and bottle feedings and it was like a button had been pressed, like his entire world had shifted to revolve around Cynthia  _ and _ Ashley now. 

The first year of parenthood had aged Jughead but the second year, full of doctor’s visits and tears and anger and a baby who hit her terrible twos early, crushed his spirit and his hope. He’d spent the third year crying, trying to keep it together enough to finish his highly anticipated first novel about how messed up his teenage years were and simultaneously trying feed his daughter on time and making sure she was on track developmentally. Being a parent was difficult but being a single parent was worse.

In the present moment, he looked at the tall oak trees that lined the street, the light flickering through the leaves as he walked, coffees in his hand and a hunch in his back, the tension in his neck pulling painfully in his shoulders.

The meetings with Dr. Lopez were bringing up memories he hadn’t thought of in years. The passion that he felt in those moments with Ashley. The longing and heartbreak and hope and joy all wrapped up into a film strip in his head.

The flood of borderline repressed memories made him want to write about her, about their times together in that shit hole apartment in a questionable part of town and as he looked at the houses around him, the ones that looked eerily similar to his, he wondered if she’d be proud of him now. He’d finished his novel, gained financial security (a thought that was still foreign to him) for himself and for Cynthia, bought them a house like the one that they'd always talked about living in as a family. 

He was getting closer to the school with each and yet, he slowed his steps down, letting himself feel the moment, the heaviness of his heart and the mid-September sun on his face and the way that he felt in his heart that everything would be okay. Something in the back of his head told him he was headed in the right direction. 

The thought of getting to see Betty in moments made his cheeks hurt from smiling and the memories of her hand grasping his made his neck all warm.

Their date had gone well, he thought. The more time he spent with her, the more the guilt of feeling like he was trying to replace Ashley went away and the more confident and comfortable he felt. He still felt like an idiot for not kissing her on the front porch of her house, for passing up the look on her face that made him think she wanted it as much as he did, but nonetheless, it was a good start. 

He had the shocking realization that “adults” usually slept together on the third date and the thought made a blush go up his face and ears more quickly than he’d ever like to admit. He shook his head like an etch-a-sketch, trying to erase the thought of Betty Cooper beneath him as he focused on putting on foot in front of the other.

The concrete path disappeared under his feet as he walked up to the school and spotted Betty’s ponytail.

It had gotten cold earlier than normal, an early fall for September and Betty was standing in the cold, staring at her phone and scrolling.

She waved when she saw him, sliding her phone into the pocket of her gray peacoat.

“Hey,” he said, putting his arm around her and placing the cup into her hand on the other side. Betty took it gratefully, grasping it between both hands to combat the chill with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey,” she said, her voice melancholy in a way that made his stomach lurch uncomfortably. He could feel her discomfort, the tension in her stomach mirroring in his.

“You okay?” he asked, the pull to make sure too strong to ignore. 

“Yeah,” she said, absentmindedly running her finger along the rim of the cup. 

It was blatantly obvious that she was lying and the concern that he immediately felt made it clear that he was feeling more and more for her. The concerns of the morning disappeared as he saw her brow was furrowed and in a moment his matched, the corners of his mouth tilting down in a frown.

He leaned down a little to look at her face. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she said, her phone buzzing as she pulled it out of her pocket and checked it with an angry sigh.

“Betts…”

She smiled for real this time, small but genuine, and rolled her eyes. “Just family stuff. Stop worrying about me.”

“Who said I was worried?” he said, a little too nonchalantly as he took a sip of his drink and looked around innocently. 

“I’m fine, really, Jughead,” she said, her eyes honest up at him and he couldn’t help but feel the tension between them lift a little bit. 

“Well, if you ever aren’t, you know where to find me,” he said earnestly.

“Home, Pop’s, The Roasted Bean, or the park,” she listed off on her fingers, her voice playful and happy again. 

“Sounds about right,” he laughed, as he spotted Cynthia exiting her classroom, thankful that he could cheer Betty up a little bit and trying to ignore how much she cheered him up too.

* * *

She called him later that week and asked if he needed anything from the grocery store.

“What? You’re running errands for me now?” he asked incredulously. 

“No doofus, you’d come with me.” He could practically hear the eyeroll in her voice. 

“Oh, uh-” He looked around wildly for an excuse, like it would pop up randomly if he spun around hard enough.

“Cynthia has soccer practice right now, right?”

“Well, yeah-”

“I’ll pick you up,” she said with a hangup of the phone. 

And she did. 

He sat in the passenger seat of her car, realizing that he’d never been inside of it before, looking around to see the backseat flawlessly (and unshockingly) clean, not a spare sweatshirt or water bottle in sight. He wondered if this was normal, a girl you went on a date with on Saturday picking you up to shop for groceries the following week, completely avoiding the topic of the date all together. He looked at her as she talked about her day and decided that it probably wasn’t but he ended up not caring, content just to be in the moment. 

They walked down the aisles, discussing their favorite types of bread (she liked good old fashioned white, the kind she’d seen on the commercials when she was a kid that she’d begged her parents to buy when they’d refused it because it was too unhealthy; he preferred wheat, the kind they could never afford growing up). They talked about whether green apples or red apples were better. 

It almost felt weird how comfortable being with her together at the supermarket felt, walking through the store with her, putting things in the cart together. It felt domestic, normal. It felt routine in the way that was so new to him.

It was definitely weird to try to materialize all the things he was feeling for her into actual thoughts in his head, but he was starting to feel an indescribable pull towards her. The sound of her voice like a beacon of comfort, the feeling on her hand on his arm or against his fingers. He watched her as she moved, graceful and full of light, grinning in his direction and sending his blood pressure shooting. She told him interesting facts, facts that showed how smart she was, sneaking it into conversations when he least expected it. She was witty and funny and everything about her screamed warmth and comfort and he wanted to stay in that feeling forever. 

Above all, he felt in tune to her emotions, aware of the shift between okay and not okay, anxious and carefree. There were little signs that he hadn’t realized he’d picked up. The tightening of her ponytail when she was angry. Biting her lip when she was thoughtful. The way she tapped her fingers or rubbed her palms when she was stressed.

Which she was doing right now as she looked at the boxes of pasta seriously.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked finally. 

“Yeah, why?” She looked confused.

“I dunno,” he said, running his hand through the back of his hair under his beanie nervously, “You just seemed kind of, uh, on edge… the other morning… with the phone.”

“I…” She paused then looked at him with surprised, narrow eyes. “Yeah.”

He watched her look down at her hands and realize what she was doing, smacking her hands down to her sides and sheepishly laughing. 

“You said it was family stuff?” he asked. 

“Remember that third date stuff we talked about?”

“Yup.”

“It’s that kind of stuff.”

He was unsure if he was overstepping a boundary but he had the thought that she had said the same thing, wondering if she was overstepping the boundaries but what she said after that warning always made him feel better, so he went for it, pushing the uncertainty and anxiety down and redirecting his thoughts.

It made him feel better, being able to think through what he was feeling, but more than anything the thought of making her feel a little better overwhelming him to action.

“You know… you can talk to me if you ever need to,” he said suddenly.

“You know, you said that this morning,” she laughed, throwing a box of penne into the cart. 

“Does that mean it’s wrong to say it again?”

“Of course not, but I… I know you’re there for me, Jughead,” she said softly, squeezing his hand as she turned. He grinned and blushed and felt all sort of pleasant. 

He kept going through the words Dr. Lopez said to him earlier, what she kept drilling into his brain. 

* * *

“You like her,” Dr. Lopez had said.

“A lot.”

“And she likes you.”

“Yeah.”

“But…?”

“I don’t want to feel like Ashley is, uh, forgotten or something. I don’t want to replace her. I don’t want Cynthia to… I don’t know.” 

“How about instead of thinking about it like that, you think about how Ashley would want someone to help you feel happy again? Do what we talked about. When you have those thoughts, acknowledge them and redirect them.” 

“It’s just…”

“It’s going to be hard, Jughead, but you have to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter that’s very Ashley and Jughead centric.
> 
> There will be lots more of Betty and Jughead in the next chapter.
> 
> Also - in my head, Ashley is Jessica Henwick.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was sitting on the couch as Cynthia played in the next room when he cellphone rang, Betty Cooper’s name popping up on his screen.
> 
> “Hey, what’s-”
> 
> “Can I come over?” her voice, angry and sad, came through the phone crackling.
> 
> He sat up straight on the couch.
> 
> “Right now?” he asked disbelievingly.
> 
> “You don’t need to pick up the house. I know you’re a mess. I’ll be there in two minutes.”

He was sitting on the couch as Cynthia played in the next room when he cellphone rang, Betty Cooper’s name popping up on his screen.

“Hey, what’s-”

“Can I come over?” her voice, angry and sad, came through the phone crackling. 

He sat up straight on the couch. 

“Right now?” he asked disbelievingly.

“You don’t need to pick up the house. I know you’re a mess. I’ll be there in two minutes.” 

He tried not to be upset at what she said, picking up at the core of her words that she was more upset than he’d probably even seen her, the realization making his stomach clench uncomfortably. 

“Two minutes?” he squeaked out. 

“Okay thanks, see you soon.” 

He looked down at the phone to see an ended call (she had hung up on him) then looked around at the room and saw the dishes on the side table and the blanket and toys on the floor and couldn’t help but grow weary of his life. 

What felt like seconds later, there was a knock on the door and Betty invited herself into the unlocked house.

“My family,” she said angrily, pushing the door open and walking into the house, “is so freaking dysfunctional.” 

“Hi to you too,” he said confusedly. 

“Jughead, my family is nuts!” She sounded frantic, like she was on the edge of breaking down and he couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the thought of trying to make it okay.

“What are families for?” he joked weakly.

“No, I’m serious,” she said, lowering her voice suddenly when she heard Cynthia in the other room. “My family is freaking dysfunctional.” 

He wondered if she knew she’d said practically the same thing three times in a row. 

“Do you, uh, want to talk about it?” he said helplessly as she walked into the kitchen and started shuffling through the cabinets.

“They gave this kid up for adoption, right? And never got past it,” she said as she held a glass under the running water of the sink as he resisted the urge to clean up around her, “and now they’re so messed up it’s not even funny and being in the same town sometimes just makes me feel like I’m sixteen again.”

“Betts, it’s going to be okay,” he said, walking up to her and resting his hand on her arm. 

“No, it’s going to be okay and then it’s going to be bad again.” She took a big gulp of her water. “They’re never going to grow up. It’s constantly going to be me taking care of them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It makes me want to give up.”

“Well don’t do that.”

“It makes me wonder why I even try.” She sounded close to tears now. 

He tried to think of something to say.

“I…” he started, but the words fell short. 

“Why do I even  _ try _ to have a nice family when they can’t get their shit together?” she said, her voice breaking as she set the glass on the counter and covered her face with her hands. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said gently, moving towards her and wrapping her arms around her shoulders. It was like her tears had flipped off the switch of being self-conscious in his head. He wanted her to feel better; he held her in his arms, praying that if he held her close enough it would take some of the hurt away. 

“It’s  _ so _ hopeless,” she cried against his shirt, every sound of her tears breaking his heart into another piece.

“It’s not hopeless.”

“It is,” she insisted, her voice thick, “I’m doomed to be like them. I’m doomed to mess my kids up and be an awful parent and never be able to handle things like an adult.”

He hated seeing her like this. He grasped desperately for something to say to make her feel better, to pull her out of this place and back to the moment. He tried to think of all the thing he’d want to hear, what would make him feel better in these moments. He thought even though he didn’t really know what was going on. 

“Hey,” he said sternly. “What would you say if I said that? That I was destined to abandon my kid because of who my parents were?

She sighed and pouted a little bit. 

“I’d tell you that’s dumb,” she said lowly, knowing he had caught her in her hypocrisy.

“So why can you say that about yourself?”

“I can’t,” she sighed. 

“We aren’t our parents, Betty.”

“Feels like I might be,” she said softly, her voice scared. 

“We’re not our parents, Betty. We’re not our families,” he repeated.

“I guess.”

“By the time I was five my dad had already left four times.”

She looked up at him, big green eyes full of tears and questioning. He took a deep breath.

“But that doesn’t mean that I’ve left Cindy. That doesn’t mean that I’m going to be a bad dad. We can change if we try.”

“Juggie…” She was looking at him again, her eyes moving between his lips and back to meet his gaze. 

He could feel the pull towards her again, the words coming out of his mouth before he could give them a second thought.

“Maybe… maybe you’re stronger than your parents. Maybe you’re holding this family together. And they’ll thank you one day but… until then just, just don’t give up.”

She sighed deeply and leaned into him again, the scent of her hair tickling his nose and the heat of her body against his comforting. He rubbed his hand up and down her back.

“You do a lot for your family, Betts. You take care of the kids and the parents and they’ll appreciate it all someday.”

He hoped his words were calming her, and he had a suspicion he was right, because moments later she let out a shaky breath and looked up at him, wiping the tears from underneath her eyes. 

“They’re not normal,” she said seriously. “No one in my family is.”

“If you want to get technical, nobody is  _ really _ normal.”

“I mean Polly named her kids  _ Juniper _ and  _ Dagwood _ for God’s sake,” she cried mirthfully, ignoring him as laughter seeped into her voice.

“Names are just names.”

“Or the names are proof that my family is weird.”

“Mine’s worse, I promise,” he comforted. She gave him a questioning look. “Forsythe. My sister is Forsythia.”

“Forsythia?” she said, her eyes full of laughter. He was glad to see it, the sight warming a pool in his belly.

“Cynthia’s named after her, sort of. We call my sister Jellybean, like Jughead ya know? But Cynthia seemed close enough to Forsythia without being stupid.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Betty admitted, still in his arms. “It suits her so well.”

“And no nicknames.”

“No necessity for nicknames,” Betty concluded. “Besides Cindy, I guess, but that doesn’t really count.”

“No, I guess it doesn’t.”

His arms were still around her and their hips were pressed up against each other and Betty was sandwiched in between him and the counter and he couldn’t help but think about kissing her, knowing that it wasn’t the time or the place but feeling that she wanted it too. 

The uncertainty was seeping back into her eyes as she rubbed her hands up and down her crossed arms. There were worry lines around her eyes and a little furrow between her brow and she was biting her lip. 

“I’m sorry I did this,” she sniffled. 

“Stop, Betty. I told you I was there was there for you.”

“This isn’t your problem though.”

“Friends are there for each other. That’s what friends do.”

He saw a flash of a scowl across her face but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

He wanted to kiss her forehead, to press his lips against her skin until she forgot all about her messed up family, until the memory returned into the back of her head and the tears stopped. 

But instead, he asked her again if she wanted to talk about it.

She shrugged, and he pulled away slightly to run his hands up and down the sides of her crossed arms.

“What happened?” he pushed her a little harder.

“My mom can’t control her emotions,” she sighed angrily, hastily wiping at her face again, aggression taking over her features again in a way that didn’t match her. He knew the feeling, crying for what feels like no reason and just wanting to feel strong again.

He paused for another moment and let her fill the silence. 

“She threw a  _ brick _ … through the Register window,” she said, with the biggest eye roll he’d ever seen.

Jughead’s eyes widened before he could stop them.

“Is everyone okay?” he asked worriedly. 

“Yeah, it was after hours so no one was there. They got into a fight and she decided that was the proper way to deal with her anger I guess.”

“Uh… maybe he deserved it?” he tried to reason. He hadn’t met her parents but he didn’t exactly have shining opinions of them currently.

“I mean he’s a total dick,” she admitted with a watery giggle. 

“Well then,” he laughed. 

“Sorry, that was blunt.” She shrugged. “But it’s true. They’re both dicks sometimes.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“I know… “ she paused. “I know I told you some stuff but they were really… overbearing and honestly a little abusive in high school and it kind of drove me off the wall.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t have to tell me this,” he said unsurely.

“I want you. You’ve told me a lot.” She sighed deeply. “I used to… have a lot of problems, I guess. Anxiety problems. Stuff like that. It’s a lot better since I went to college and moved out and all that. But it’s… still there I guess. It’s never really going to go away.” 

He had moved away from her a little bit so he could see her face without her straining her neck to look up at him and when she was done talking, he couldn’t help but bring her close again, wrapping his arms around her waist now. She leaned into him up on her toes, her arms around his neck and her breath against his neck. 

“I’m sorry this is happening, Betts,” he said earnestly, softly against her ear. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered back, her voice sweet and close.

“I’m sorry I can’t do anything to make it stop.”

“You’re doing more than enough,” she said, giving him a final squeeze and pushing him away gently.

“Are you sure?” he asked as she laughed, wiping under her eyes again. 

“Yes, stop asking.”

“Okay.”

She shook her arms a little bit, something he found he did too, a physical way to represent shaking off the bad feelings and thoughts, and another moment later there was a big, genuine smile plastered back on her face again. 

“Now, if you don’t mind, I need my fix of kid-time with someone I’m not related to,” she said cheerfully. 

He looked at her confusedly before she called out in a sing-song voice, “Oh Cynthia! Guess who’s here to play!” 

Cynthia squealed and ran quickly into the kitchen, grabbing Betty’s hand and pulling the laughing woman behind her into the playroom. 

Betty looked back at him, the tears gone from her eyes,

Jughead couldn’t help but laugh either. 

* * *

The next day at school Betty was back to normal, chipper and perky as ever, but he couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted between them. It was different to have them open up to each other at another level, the chance to comfort her sending something primal into his bones. He felt like he needed to protect her, the pull to make her feel better and have her be okay growing even stronger.

Their eyes met at the park while she pushed the kids on the swing. She helped the twins pronounce big words they didn’t understand and worked with them until they got the pronunciation and meaning correct, patiently and understandingly teaching them about the world. Betty brought his daughter out of her shell in a way that made him proud and emotional all in the same breath, Cynthia running around and talking to adults like it was what she always did. He watched Betty as she talked in funny voices as she told stories and later as she swiftly picked Cynthia when the little girl scraped her knee, carrying her over so that his daughter could cry in his arms.

He watched her eyes as they traveled from the rim of the to-go cup of coffee he brought her to the face of the PTA president, her expression animated and excited as she coordinated some incredibly philanthropic event (he was guessing, but he was also fairly certain that he was right. He watched her as she interacted with the kids when she came to watch one of Cynthia’s soccer game, the warmth traveling around his heart as she passed out orange slices and gatorade after all the parents lined up to make an arm tunnel.

All these things that she did and they weren’t even her own children. Not that she couldn’t love them if she wasn't their mother, but she was practically another parent to her niece and nephew and was growing to be a fixture in Cynthia’s life too.

He was learning that she wasn’t perfect either, a welcome fact because of how intimidating everything about her could be, the perfectly coiffed ponytail and pressed pastel sweaters along with involvement and adorable little family members and the color of her lips. But she wasn't perfect, thank goodness. She snipped at him occasionally, usually if she hadn’t had her coffee or if a story she was writing at work was particularly brutal and messed up and it seeped into her mind for the rest of the day. She got cranky when she was hungry or too warm and she had bad road rage occasionally, yelling at the people in the other cars through the windshield. Somehow it made him even more fond of her, loving that he got to see the side of her that other people didn't, that she opened up and told him about her past and allowed herself to get annoyed around him. 

But most of the time, she was so good that it hurt his heart a little bit, making him nostalgic and melancholy and self-deprecating and warm and fuzzy all in one flash of emotion.

They hadn’t really talked about their date in the few weeks since it had happened; the whole situation was without awkwardness, but it was still lingering in the back of his mind, constantly wondering whether she was okay with where they were, whether she wanted more or less or something different all together. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was letting him take it very slow, still under the guise of adjustment even though he’d been there over a month and half and maybe it was the whole dead girlfriend thing that made her a little hesitant, too. The thought was easy to justify and rationalize, the thousand times that Betty had been empathetic and thoughtful running through his memory.

It was getting easier to be around her and the romantic feelings he had for her without the guilt.

He’d been going to his appointments, talking everything out and trying his hardest to place his feelings in their correct boxes despite the fact that they got mixed up sometimes. Sometimes the wires crossed but he was feeling better by the day. 

He tried not to think about the fact that Betty was probably having a big impact on that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaaaaay so here's a new chapter!
> 
> Also, I think you will all love and hate me for the next chapter... haha get ready for it! 
> 
> Leave a comment with your thoughts - it makes me the happiest lil Bugheader in the world.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly and Daniel invited Cynthia and Jughead over for a “dinner party,” which in adult terms meant come drink with us while our kids occupy themselves in the other room.

Polly and Daniel invited Cynthia and Jughead over for a “dinner party,” which in adult terms meant come drink with us while our kids occupy themselves in the other room.

It wasn’t a very difficult decision to accept the invitation.

A week and a half later, they sat around the couple’s large kitchen table, the four of them plus another few of their friends who turned out to be friendly enough. A woman named Emily who worked at Daniel’s company who had been in their wedding as a bridesmaid. Timothy, who looked very much like Daniel and talked like him too and his fiancee, Jessica, who was as cold as she was beautiful, picking at her cuticles and pulling little pieces of fluff off of her engagement ring as everyone else socialized.

It was nice to be around some more adults with conversation that felt easy and didn’t make his heart pound like conversation with Betty did. On top of that, he missed Archie a stupid amount and he knew that the feeling was only going to get worse as the holidays came around, the time of year that they always spent together in their tiny apartments in Manhattan or Brooklyn or sometimes at Archie’s dad’s house in the suburbs where they’d grown up.

He brought a bottle of wine, wondering in his head when he became such a grown up and coming to the conclusion that it was around the same time he became a parent.

* * *

Polly had answered the door and before he even got the chance to ask where Betty was, he was told that she was in the kitchen helping with dinner.

And there she was, in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove over a big pot of boiling sauce, her heeled boots sitting in the corner of the room as she hummed along with the softly playing jazz emanating from her phone on the counter.

He stood against the door frame and watched her for a moment, the little black dress moving back and forth over her skin as she moved her hips in time with the music and danced between the sink and the stove. She was sexy and he was having a hard time ignoring that fact as her shoulders moved and she brushed her loose hair away from her face. He tried not to think about how he wanted to brush the hair away from her face too and kiss down her neck, pressing his lips against the skin and taste her.

“Whatcha making?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t give away his thoughts.

She jumped and a hand flew to her chest.

“Don’t scare me like that, Jughead Jones!” she laughed, pointing a big wooden spoon in his direction accusingly.

“Sorry,” he said with a grin, not sorry at all.

“That’s okay,” she replied, smiling adorably with a blush that creeped up her cheeks. “I’ll forgive you eventually.”

“You never answered my question.”

“Bolognese.”

“Yum. Smells amazing.”

“It is,” she said with a wink. “It’s my specialty. The best thing I make by far.”

“I’m sure.”

She looked him up and down, his jeans and converse like always, and the expression on her face sent a little shiver up and down his spine.

“You look nice,” she commented a little too nonchalantly.

“I know. I see you checking me out,” he teased.

“Sorry,” she said in a fake, overly apologetic tone.

She was moving without noticing, rocking side to side on her toes, and he couldn’t help but stare at her, his throat thickening at the sight of her dancing back and forth a little bit. It made her look younger, like she was in high school, singing into a hair brush and pretending to be a pop-star in her childhood bedroom. He wondered if it was pink too, like the color of strawberry milkshakes and flushed cheeks.

She noticed him staring at her but he didn’t look away, keeping his gaze as the smile slid off of it and something else slowly slid on.

“You want to try it?” she said, her voice lowering in a way that made his pants tighten uncomfortably.

“What?” he stuttered.

“The sauce,” she teased, arching her back slightly in a way that he was sure was intentional. He focused on keeping his eyes meeting hers and not meeting where her ass met her dress.

“Yeah,” he breathed, the air blown out of his lungs.

She hovered a soft hand under his chin and he opened his mouth obediently as she raised the spoon towards him, taking a step into his body as he reached out and put one hand on her hip. He tried to tell himself that it was just for stability, as he leaned forward into her touch.

Their gazes never wavered as he wrapped he sucked the sauce off the spoon, his heart skipping a beat at the way her pupils dilated as they flicked down to his lips.

In that moment, he realized that she knew what she was doing. She knew she was teasing him, looking for an excuse to touch him. The realization had his heart pounding.

He swallowed thickly.

It was _really_ good.

“Delicious,” he whispered.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she said, her voice low and breathy, the air crackling between them.

She pulled the spoon away slowly.

“I believed you,” he murmured, completely entranced with the smell of her wrist, her pulse so close to him, her face just inches away from his, close enough to kiss. 

“Where’s the wine?” Polly called from the dining room and it snapped Jughead out of his daze, Betty jumping back to the sauce with a blush that rivaled a sunburn.

He grabbed the bottle and the corkscrew, rushing into the other room.

* * *

“So, Betty never said what you do!” Daniel said, twisting the corkscrew into another bottle of Merlot as they sat around the table and nibbled on appetizers. Jughead wondered if Betty had made them.

“I’m a writer,” Jughead said sheepishly, delicately, the first two bottles of wine hitting him harder that he thought.

“Well, that’s cool!” Polly exclaimed.

“What kind of writing do you do?” Jessica asked boredly like she was looking for an excuse to judge him, still staring down at her hands. He could practically hear her air quotes around “writing.”

“It’s not _just_ cool,” Betty preened as she carried the pasta into the room. “He wrote _Sweetwater_ , the New York Times _Bestseller_.”

Jughead blushed brilliantly as a gasp went around the table.

“Well that makes my story about catching a 31 inch salmon in California last year seem mighty uninteresting,” Daniel chuckled as he popped the cork out of the bottle. It was _so_ Daniel to be into fishing.

Polly patted his back fondly, her gaze affectionate and domestic, and Daniel leaned down to give her a kiss. It made Jughead jealous and uncomfortable at the same time, so he looked down at his glass of wine thoughtfully instead.

“Daddy?” Cynthia called from the door, pulling him out of his alcoholic concentration.

“Yeah?” he said, turning to her to see her rubbing her eyes and looking very worn out. “Oh, c’mere, honey.”

She walked up to him and climbed into his lap, leaning into his chest and closing her eyes.

“You tired?” he whispered into her ear. She nodded and he pressed a kiss to her forehead, smoothing her hair down. They were having a late dinner, he realized as he looked down at his watch, and it was no wonder that she was sleepy. He should have had her take a nap before they came.

“I wanna go to bed,” she said, her voice sounding close to tears.

He felt bad, but he couldn’t very well make her stay up so he could eat Betty’s cooking.

“I guess that’s it for me guys, gotta take the princess home,” he said, draining his glass as he took the final sip of his wine.

“Put her in bed upstairs,” Polly said, waving him off as she loaded the plates with salad and pasta, passing them down the table as they filled. “The room never gets used anyways.”

“I… “ he started. “You sure?”

He looked to Betty, who was gazing at him with big, soft eyes, making him melt without even trying, and for the millionth time, he wished he could read her thoughts. He wondered if she knew the physical effect that she had on him, that not only were her actions arousing but intoxicating and addictive too.

He was desperate for that look in her eyes to come back.

“Positive,” Daniel replied.

Jughead expressed his thanks and lifted Cynthia up, her arms wrapping around his neck as she snuggled into him.

He walked her up the stairs and looked into the various rooms, deciding eventually that the room without the bunk beds was probably a safe bet as the guest bedroom. He pulled back the covers and laid Cynthia down in the bed, thankful that he put her in clothes that would be comfortable enough for her to sleep in. He pulled the comforter up to her chin and she took it into her hands, wrapping it around her and turning onto her side.

“Love you, Cynthia,” he said, smoothing her hair down again and feeling a little emotional.

It hit hit at weird times, how much he loved her. When she was reading a book or learned a new word or sometimes just the sound of her giggles through the wall as he typed. When she was falling asleep in their neighbor's guest room and her hands look impossibly small against the pattern of the quilt. 

“Love you,” she said sleepily.

He turned to walk out of the room but was called back by her voice.

“Daddy?” she called from the bed.

“I really like our new friends,” she said softly, her voice dripping with the adorable slur that kids get when their exhaustion reaches a new level.

“Yeah, kiddo?” he said, his heart warming, “I do too.”

Her eyes fluttered shut and within a moment she was asleep.

“Night, princess,” he said, closing the door gently behind him.

He checked his phone as he walked down the stairs, texting Archie back as he nearly ran into Betty.

“Hi,” she said suddenly, two steps below him, a good 15 inches shorter than him, even with the boots back on her feet.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Cynthia asleep?” she asked, her voice low, taking a step up so she was only a step below him.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

When she opened her voice, her words were teasing but her tone was nothing apart from breathy and wanting.

“You know, I need to get by,” she said.

He stepped aside but turned his body as she walked by, watching the way her hand ran along the bannister and how her eyes got a little darker as they followed his hairline along his neck.

She looked at him thoughtfully and he could see her brain working, big green eyes looking at him like she wanted to kiss him right in the middle of the hallway at her sister’s house, his daughter asleep in the room a few feet away.

She stepped up above him, his face level with her chin, and turned towards him suddenly. He had turned with her, he realized, pulled by some force to face her.

“Your shirt’s uneven,” she said but he knew it was a lie. He knew it was a lie but he did nothing to stop her, letting her adjust the collar of his button-down, her knuckles grazing against his pulse as she pulled the fabric taut, smoothing it out over his chest with featherlight brushes.

“All better,” she whispered,

“Thanks,” he said, his voice choked at the back of his throat.

“I’ll see you downstairs,” she said, her hands still against his chest.

“Okay,” he said, staring at her lips.

She smiled as she walked away.

* * *

He helped Daniel do the dishes after dinner, after he insisted that Betty and Polly stay seated after they cooked all that stuff.

“So, how’re you liking Riverdale?” Daniel asked as Jughead dried a dish.

“Good, Cindy loves her school.”

“I didn’t ask how _Cynthia_ liked Riverdale,” Daniel laughed.

“I’m liking it a lot,” Jughead said sheepishly, a blush creeping up his cheeks slightly, “It’s really different than the city but in a good way. It’s like we have a real life.”

“Not too boring for you?”

“I’ve had enough excitement for a lifetime,” Jughead chuckled darkly. Daniel nodded. 

“You and Betty are becoming pretty good friends, huh?” Daniel asked. Jughead’s eyes snapped up to his, searching his face for sign that her brother-in-law was being protective or disapproving in anyway. Instead, he just saw curiosity and care and genuine interest.

“Yeah,” Jughead said. “She’s great honestly. Helped make it really easy.”

“She’s a good egg,” Daniel said knowingly and Jughead had to smile at how everyone loved her.

“True.”

They washed and dried in the rest in silence.

When they finished, Jughead went upstairs and lifted a sleepy girl out of bed, carrying her carefully down the stairs.

“I think I should be heading home. Two glasses of wine is more than enough for me,” he laughed, adjusting Cynthia’s weight in his arms. “Thanks so much for having me, this was lots of fu.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Betty said, her eyes twinkling as she slipped her coat on.

* * *

She slid her boots off in his entryway as he put Cynthia upstairs.

He laid his daughter down gently in her second sleeping spot of the night and closed the door carefully, padding down the stairs to see Betty.

Her boots were off now, her toes buried in the plush carpet and he was thankful now that he had used his not-so-new vacuum just yesterday. She slid her coat down her shoulders and placed it on the back of the couch, pausing to walk around as she looked at the build-in shelves surrounding the fireplaces.

He sat on the couch, one foot crossed on the other knee, watching her as she ran her fingers along the spines of the books. She stood slightly on her tiptoes, a ghost of a smile on her face as she saw _Sweetwater_ next to _To Kill a Mockingbird._

“Can I put on some music?” she asked, turning over her shoulder to look at him with questioning eyes.

“Be my guest,” he replied, his voice lower than he expected.

“Any preferences?”

“Whatever you want,” he said as her eyes raked across and over his shoulders.

“Whatever I want?” she said softly, the sound settling a pool of desire into her stomach.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Whatever she wanted; he would have given her anything in the world in that moment.

She took a CD out, the thought that he even still had CDs making him feel old, and slid it into the player, turning it on with the remote and skipping a few songs in.

It started playing, the soft 60’s beat coming from the stereo.

She turned to look at him, leaning against the shelves for a moment.

“Dance with me,” she said softly.

It was so cliche and in his books he never would have written this moment, but she had asked and he couldn’t say no, so he pushed himself up off of the back of the couch and reached his hand out to her in the dark. She grasped it gently in her own, small and warm as it always was, and moments later the pull brought them together, her leg between his and his between hers, their bodies touching in all the right places as she started to sway.

She moved like she did in the kitchen and up the stairs, her hips leading her motions as she moved them gently in time with the music. He had the background thought that he should be leading but the way that she moved around him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. She was impossibly warm and the scent of her was intoxicating and so was the feeling of her black dress underneath his fingers, impossibly smooth and silky and it reminded him of lingerie, the way that the fabric felt in his hands.

He could barely see her, but he could feel everything about her, the soft beating of her heart and the feeling of her hands in his hair.

He put his arms around her and to anyone else it might seem platonic, one hand splayed on her shoulder blades as she wrapped her arms around his neck, his other hand sliding dangerously low on her back, but it was the closest they’d ever been and he wasn’t going to let this stop for anything. It was the closest they’d ever been, dancing in the dark front room of his house, black except for the glow from the front porch light barely coming in through the shutters.

He knew that she knew, that she could feel how much he desperately wanted this, the hardness in his pants and the tension in his shoulders, the way he was struggling to keep control.

He felt her lips on his neck, her breath against his skin and it sent a shiver down his spine, rolling his head and pulling her closer, closer, harder against him. She was soft in all the right places, at the side of her hips and under her collar bones, at her heart.

She moved with him, against him, and it felt like heaven to be dancing together in the middle of the dark room, his head buzzing from the wine and her so close to him that the perfume she wore was wrapping itself into every one of his senses. He felt dizzy with lust and something else and he couldn’t bring himself to move anywhere but closer to her, wrapping her dress around his fingers.

The electricity crackled between them, his breaths shallow and hers matching, his heart thumping out of his chest and his thoughts jumbled and random in his brain.

“Juggie,” she all but purred, her tone sending shocks down his torso and into his pants.

She was leaning in towards him, their noses touching. Her lips were so close that he could feel her breath against his, the electricity back again, the thudding of his heart against his chest almost unbearable. Their lips were about to touch, millimeters away, closer than ever and it hit him what was about to happen.

He pulled away sudden and every cell in his body screamed their protests.

She looked up at him, her brow furrowed, shocked and disappointed and embarrassed, her cheeks flushed with lust and anger and shame.

“Betty, I…” The words got stuck in his throat.

All of a sudden he felt like crying, another perfect moment messed up by some stupid feeling at the back of his head. He took a staggering step back, her hand slipping away from him. 

“Jughead…” she said, her voice stern and the softness replaced with a harsh edge.

“I’m sorry,” he tried to say but again, it was like his mouth wasn’t working.

He was mortified. Mortified that he couldn’t even kiss the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen without freezing up. He couldn’t even kiss the girl that hadn’t left his mind for nearly two months and now that she was in his house, pushed up along him, ready to press her lips against his, he froze.

Her brow furrowed even deeper and she leaned away from him suddenly, grabbing the remote to the stereo and turning the music off.

The room felt eerily quiet without it.

“Did I misread this? Do you not like me or something?” she asked, half angry and half soft in a tone that was entirely Betty Cooper.

“No, Betty, I do, I _really_ like you, it’s just-”

“It’s just _what_?” He hated that he made her angry and disappointed and the way she was talking to him made him want to roll into a ball and cry, retreat into his office and his laptop and his books and never come out.

“I-”

"Juggie-"

"I can't-"

“Just talk to me,” she begged, her eyes filling with tears suddenly, “Please, Juggie, just talk to me.”

Her lips were stained red and her hair a little messy.

She was a vision that couldn’t be his.

“I… I can’t,” he admitted, his voice thick and heavy and his eyes filled with every ounce of shame that he felt.

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t do this-”

“You can’t do _what_?”

“This,” he cried, tears spilled down his cheeks now, turning his face away from her and burying it in his shoulder. His mouth let out a sob that he hated and it all made him feel impossibly small and fucked up and broken, standing on the stupid rug that he bought in his own home that he owned and all the progress that he’d made came crashing down around him. All he wanted was Betty back in his arms but the guilt and the shame rose up in his mouth and made him sick to his stomach, the thought of being with someone like this, of starting another relationship with someone and the possibility of them being ripped away from him.

Starting another relationship where Cynthia got attached to someone that left. 

Starting another relationship where he spent every night crying. 

A sob ripped from his throat but Betty didn’t reach out and touch him.

He turned his face back to her, trying to stop the sobs but he couldn't, they kept coming and all he could think of doing was falling onto the couch and rolling up into a ball.

The look of realization and defeat and understanding on her face stopped the middle of his thought.

“You can’t do this,” she said for him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice ripping out of his throat. “I’m a... and I can’t… I can’t… not if I… I can’t.”

He knew he didn't make sense and he could see in her eyes that he was right, but he couldn’t find the words to help her understand, spewing out a string of nonsensical gibberish and hoping that she understood.

“It’s too hard,” she sighed, sounding suddenly tired.

His head nodded without his consent.

She sighed deeply and heavily, the sound hurting his heart in ways that broke him into a million little pieces. He couldn’t believe that she was sitting in front of him and wanting him and he was messing it up, but in the back of his mind he knew he would. He knew he’d mess it up, the baggage of his past rearing its ugly head; his dad leaving and his girlfriend dying and being a single father and abandonment issue after abandonment issue.

She walked to the back of the couch, slipping her shoes and coat on quickly. He wiped at his eyes absentmindedly and tried to steady his breath.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. In books and movies, the protagonist just met the perfect girl and all the problems fell away. She was sweet and funny and empathetic and he was dark and moody; her pastels and his leather - together they were just supposed to fit, but instead he was standing in his own house, ugly-crying because she went to kiss him. The more they moved towards the door, the further away he felt the moment slipping, the lust just a hard rock of guilt in the pit of his stomach now.

She finally reached up and touched his cheek, her expression full of pity, her soft hand against his face and he had to stop himself from leaning into it, the comfort that it brought but immediately the thought followed at how stupid he was being and he looked at her eyes and his heart broke all over again. Her green eyes with their tiny, sparkling flecks of amber and her lips and the light little freckles on her nose. The smell of her perfume lingering in the air and her palm soft and warm against his cheek.

“I’m not going to push you, Juggie,” she said softly, her eyes full of sadness that felt like a punch to the gut, salt to the wound, a stab in the back, “and maybe I’m overstepping a boundary… but I think Ashley would have wanted you to live a life of happiness and...  I… I know I don’t know what it’s like but... ”

She exhaled heavily.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out.

She looked up at him, smiling emptily, and dropped her hands from his face.

“I’ll see you around, Jughead,” she said, tugging the door open and taking one look back at him before she closed the door.

She didn’t say “later” or “Monday” or “tomorrow.”

She said “around.”

* * *

Later that night, he sat in the office, his head in his arms against the desk, sobbing quietly as his thoughts raced and tortured him.

A noise startled him and he looked up to see Cynthia standing in the doorway, wearing her favorite Moana pajamas and wiping at her sleepy eyes.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, Cynds?” he tried to say as he cleared his throat and wiped at his wet eyes.

She walked up to him and he pulled her into his lap, cuddling her up to his chest and pulling her closer.

“Why are you sad?” Cynthia asked, her brown eyes looking up at him, arms wrapped around his neck.

“I miss Mommy,” he said, his voice breaking.

“I miss her, too,” she said sadly, resting her head against the fabric of his flannel.

If possible, her saying it out loud made him feel even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me!
> 
> In case you were curious, the song that Betty put on were “Cry to Me” by Solomon Burke.
> 
> Love? Hate? Leave a review!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so about the last chapter! There were a ton of amazingly sweet comments but also a lot of concern that Jughead isn't emotionally available and that it's unfair to Betty right now. And you're right! He isn't ready for a relationship (obviously).
> 
> But to be clear, Betty isn't his second choice. Jughead hasn't dealt with all the hurt and emotions from his past and that will be addressed a lot in the chapters following this one. He had a lot to work through but hopefully it'll be clear that he's very interested in Betty and realizes he had a lot of work to do before their relationship can or should happen.
> 
> Enjoy this 4000+ word chapter! x

“Jughead Jones,” Betty’s voice said sternly through the phone. “Did you really just _forget_ to mention that it was your birthday?”

He groaned and dropped his forehead into his hand as he sat at his desk, typing away and cursing writer’s block for the umpteenth time in the last few weeks. He pushed down the embarrassment that he felt at her calling him after what had happened. He’d spent the last week mulling it over a million times in his head and had come to the conclusion that he needed to distance himself from Betty for a while until he got himself under control, until he could give her what she actually deserved.

“You’d better answer me right now!” she exclaimed, obviously having other plans regarding the space he was attempting to put between them.

“Honestly, it’s not a big deal. I’m not a birthday person.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“We don’t ever do anything. We usually just go to a movie together.”

“Let me guess, something starring singing animals and princesses?”

“Well, I can’t exactly take a five-year-old to see Tarantino.”

“Jug, c’mon. It’s your birthday! Let’s do something special.”

There was a hesitation ready at the back of his throat.

All the reasons that he shouldn’t let her in on his birthday plans.

The fact that Cynthia was getting attached to Betty, asking about her when Polly picked up the kids from school in place of her sister or when they skipped the park because of homework and didn’t see her for a week. The fear swelling up at the back of his throat at the idea of letting someone else into his life.

The fact that it was his and Cynthia’s tradition, to go to a movie. The tradition that he’d made when he’d been a heartbroken twenty-three year old who desperately wanted to escape the memories of his messed up childhood and the fact that he’d spent his last birthday with a whole family that just felt fragmented now weighing in the back of his head.

And most of all, the fact that he wasn’t in a good place to be dating, being all but emotionally unavailable for her at this point. She deserved everything and he couldn’t give it to her right now. She deserved someone that matched her big heart and how she just wanted him to be happy. She deserved someone that didn’t cause her the look of disappointment in her eyes when he leaned away from her kiss and told her that it wasn’t going to work.

Despite all this, he couldn’t say no to her. The thought of disappointing her or withholding something from her made him uneasy, the thought of a negative emotion in her big green eyes sending him reeling and settling into his stomach like a heavy stone of guilt. He wanted to give her everything that he had and he heard Dr. Lopez’ advice in his ear. “ _You have to try.”_

“No parties,” he said hesitantly.

“No parties,” she confirmed. “You don’t seem like the type that would want one anyways.”

“Definitely not.”

“Well then, what?”

“I really honestly just want to go to a movie.”

“What about burgers too?”

“Well…”

“You wouldn’t be Jughead Jones if you turned down a burger, would you?”

“I’ll _never_ turn down burgers and fries, Betty,” he said seriously.

“Okay, well that’s good then,” she said. “Pop’s and a movie and nothing else.”

“ _Nothing_ else, you hear me?” he repeated.

“Yup. Nothing else.”

“Promise me.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” she said indignantly.

“Betty…”

“I’m not promising no surprises, but I will promise no party.”

“All right,” he sighed again. “No party?”

“I promise there will be no party.”

“Okay then,” he laughed. “As long as there’s no party.”

“I’ll pick you up at 5. I have a booster in the back.” she chirped, hanging the phone up. “Bye, Juggie!”

He banged his head against the desk again, cursing his piss poor planning.

* * *

Pop’s was busy even for a Saturday but Pop got them a booth in the back of the restaurant where it was a little more quiet with a fewer people and immediately Jughead felt calmer, the area acting like a little fortress just for them.

Diners, he knew diners, he thought to himself. No party waiting for him. (Like he had friends to invite anyways.)

Betty slid into one side of the booth and he took the other, Cynthia sliding in next to him and quickly curling up into his side. Pop quickly came up to take their orders and much to Jughead’s chagrin, Betty couldn’t help herself.

“It’s Jughead’s _birthday_ ,” Betty whispered to Pop conspiratorially. “He’s a big ole 28. But he doesn’t want a big deal. So maybe just something to fill his empty chasm of a stomach?”

“All righty. Two cheeseburgers and fries.” Pop chuckled, turning to Cynthia next. “What about for you, sweetheart?”

“Chicken fingers and french fries, please!” she replied, smiling up at him. Jughead’s heart melted at her little manners, wondering if they’d stick around as she got older.

“You know, they have _really_ good milkshakes, Cynthia. I think your dad would let you have one since it’s such a special occasion.” Betty said conspiratorially towards Jughead with raised eyebrows. He sighed and paused for a moment.

“Chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla?” Jughead asked with a roll of his eyes.

“Strawberry!”

“That’s my favorite, too!” Betty laughed, putting her hand to her chest in a sign of fake-surprise. “And just the regular for me, Pop.”

“I’ll get that right up for y’all,” Pop said, flipping his notebook closed and walking away with a laugh.

In ever a Cynthia fashion, she started looking around and asking questions.

“What’s that?” Cynthia asked, pointing to the machine in the corner next to their booth as Pop brought their fries and shakes to the table a few moments later, the greasy diner appetizers of choice.

“It’s called a Jukebox,” Jughead replied, trying to shove fries into his mouth as elegantly as possible. Failing, but trying.

“What’s it do?”

“You put money in it and it plays different songs. Whatever song you want,” Betty answered for Jughead, his mouth full of fries and burger.

“Daddy, _please_ can I do that?”

“I’m sorry, Cynds, I don’t have any change,” he said with a sad shrug.

A look of disappointment fell over his face and broke Jughead’s heart, cursing the fact that he hadn’t thought to bring any coins. She looked at the machine longingly.

“Here,” Betty said, digging into her purse and dumping a pile of quarters in Cynthia’s outstretched hand.

Cynthia looked up at her with disbelief.

“Go have fun,” Betty laughed, nodding her head towards the Jukebox.

Cynthia squealed with delight and ran out of the booth happily, leaving them alone. He watched Cynthia for a moment, wondering if she would actually recognize any of the names of the artists but feeling proud that she was reading so well at 5 years old. She figured it out quickly and he turned his attention back to the table, struggling for a conversation topic

His brain flashed back to Betty, crying in his kitchen a few days ago, the tears thick in her eyes and his curiosity got the best of him.

“How’s your family?” Jughead asked.

“They’re fine,” she said, not meeting his eyes and taking a bite of her burger.

“You sound upset,” he said.

“I’m not,” she insisted.

“You sound upset,” he repeated.

“If anything, I’m upset that I had to hear about your birthday from your five-year-old daughter instead of you, Jug,” she said seriously, looking at him sideways. “Why do you hate your birthday so much anyways?”

The thought of sharing this information, of letting her into the dark corners of his childhood made him sweat a little bit but he pushed through it. _You have to try,_ he heard in his head again.

“I don’t know, things were always messed up at home,” he said, “usually because of my dad, and… and there was this arbitrary day.”

“Arbitrary?”

“We would just get together and pretend things were great. Like we were normal. It just made me feel really lonely… then Ashley came along and Cynthia and things were _so_ good and then they were _so_ bad right around my birthday. And then I was a kid trying to take care of a baby and I forgot my birthday and then it seemed dumb to start attempting to care about some stupid day.”

“I’d probably hate my birthday too,” she said, looking down, “if I’d gone through that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I didn’t realize you’d think I was hiding it from you.”

“Don’t be sorry, but these are things friends share with each other, you know.”

“Right,” he sighed. “Friends share things. Got it.”

She nodded resolutely, her eyes flicking to the front door, then up at him with a smile.

“But I’m going to be honest,” she said, her eyes glinting with mischief again.

“Oh no,” he groaned.

“I may or may not still have gotten you a birthday surprise,” she admitted, her voice bordering a giggle that he found simultaneously adorable and unbearable. He loved the look in her eye and the happiness in her voice and he took a deep breath to push the anxiety down, feeling instantly calmer.

“Please tell me it isn’t balloons or a bouncy castle or a big party or--”

“You might want to turn around,” she said, grinning fully and taking a sip of her shake.

Jughead turned around and to his shock, Archie Andrews was walking through the door, his smile a mile wide and his arms wide too.

“Oh my god _,_ ” Jughead said, standing from the booth as he and Archie hugged. “Arch!”

“Happy birthday, Jug,” Archie laughed next to his ear.

“Oh my _god!”_

“You know we’re hugging in front of the whole town, right?”

“Better to do this than that stupid bro thing where we just nod like douches and mutually suppress our emotions,” Jughead laughed. “What are you doing here?”

“A certain someone called and said that I just _had_ to come try Pop’s burgers,” Archie joked, nodding his head in the direction of the blonde.

“You did this?” he turned to Betty in disbelief. She nodded excitedly.

“Hi, Archie,” she laughed, standing up to hug Archie from the side, “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Uncle Archie!” Cynthia yelled, running towards her godfather and jumping into his arms with a squeal that made the whole restaurant turn and look at them. Archie responded by scooping her up and kissing her cheeks and tickling her sides until she squealed even louder.

“Just a guy and his goddaughter, nothing to see here,” Jughead said with a wave to the people, sitting back into the booth next to Betty after Archie and Cynthia took the other side.

Like clockwork, Pop brought their burgers out and they dug in, Archie and Cynthia talking quickly about her school, catching up since the last time that they’d talked.

“You already told me about that last week, remember?” Archie laughed as Cynthia repeated the same story about Juniper and Dagwood.

“Last week?” Betty questioned.

“We try to Facetime a few times a month,” Jughead shrugged, taking a bite so massive it was a wonder that he didn’t choke.

He could tell that Betty was looking at him and he could feel her eyes on him too, her gaze intense out of the corner of his eye, but he was too busy grinning and laughing with Cynthia and his best friend to feel worried about, letting himself enjoy the moment without overthinking it. He’d mentioned to her before that Archie was practically his brother; they’d grown up together and been inseparable for all of their adolescence, getting through the toughest times of their lives as a pair.

He turned to her and her eyes were sparkling and he couldn’t help but think of the first time they went and got coffee together, her skin glowing and her eyes alight in the late morning sun and also with something he couldn’t quite place. Affection or admiration or something stronger.

The thought of how much he liked her made him sick to his stomach but she smiled and he couldn’t help but feel content and calm again, the guilt slipping away like a dream he couldn’t quite remember.

“You happy?” Betty asked him softly as Archie and Cynthia squealed, bumping her shoulder against his.

“This…” he was genuinely touched and having a hard time coming up with the words as he looked at her. “This is amazing. I can’t believe you did this.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” she said as she blushed.

“It’s a big deal to me,” he insisted, bumping her shoulder back.

She smiled again and went back to her strawberry shake. He noticed that the shade of it matched her shirt perfectly and he wondered if she planned it, this moment in the booth of Pop’s with the electric lights reflecting on her face and laughter in her eyes and the whole world feeling like it was lining up perfectly.

* * *

 

They went to see another movie, and it occurred to Jughead that he’d seen more movies since moving to Riverdale than he had in the past few years combined.

It made him nostalgic for darker times, times that he had romanticized in his head as being easier when in reality, they were just different. Mrs. Andrews taking them to the movies on hot summer days when the air conditioning had broken, laughing gleefully when she let them buy the large popcorn with extra butter. Taking Jellybean to her first movie when their parents had started fighting and lying about his age to get the child’s ticket rate because it was all he could afford. Being kicked out and going to watch a foreign film until the smoke blew over and it was safe to go home.

“Why don’t I take the little munchkin for the night?” Archie said, nodding his head towards the sleeping girl in his arms as they walked out of the Bijou. “I’ll take her home and you two can go out and get a drink.”

“No, Archie, you flew all the way in here for his birthday and-” Betty started.

“I insist,” Archie replied.

“Arch, man,” Jughead interrupted.

“I couldn’t-” Betty interjected.

“Let me.” Archie said resolutely. “I’m serious. You two probably don’t get a whole lot of kid-free time. I get all the kid-free time in the world.”

There was a pause as Betty turned to look at him and then back to Archie.

“Are you sure?” Jughead asked seriously, searching Archie’s face for a sign of deceit but as usual, there wasn’t one. It was like he was incapable of lying.  

“Positive. Go have a happy birthday, brother,” Archie smiled.

“Here are the keys,” Jughead started, digging into his pockets.

“Don’t bother, Betty gave me hers,” Archie waved him off. “She put an old car seat in it.”

Jughead turned to look at Betty again, thinking for the millionth time about thoughtful she was, putting together every little detail so that he would have a good day, without even knowing why he had bad birthdays yet. She had invited Archie and set this up before she knew about his dad and his fucked up life. She must have asked for the booth there specifically, he realized, and the thought made him feel warm and fuzzy.

Archie adjusted Cynthia in his arms up, ruffling Jughead’s hair playfully as he walked by and waved to Betty.

“How about that drink, Juggie?” she said as Archie left.

“Okay,” he agreed quickly.

* * *

They made it to the only drinking establishment within walking distance, settling onto two of the tall stools against the bar. The bartender knew Betty and brought over two of her favorite drinks quickly.

He watched her as she swung her legs. She noticed her watching and blushed, clipping them onto the bar underneath the chair. He sipped the drink nervously, trying and failing not to drink too quickly.

“So… this is good,” he said, making conversation.

“Seven and seven,” she said. “My signature drink.”

“Your signature?”

“Good enough that I’ll actually finish it and not let it go to waste, but not good enough that I’ll drink it too quickly.”

“Smart lady,” he laughed, taking another sip.

She raised her eyebrows at him in a fake-modest shrug, laughter in her eyes.

“I didn’t know you chew your straw,” she teased. “You feeling tense?”

“The opposite,” he said sheepishly, feeling more calm than he had in a long time. Maybe it was Cynthia being so well cared for or the drink or Betty’s presence but he was feeling good.

“A little… frustrated then?” she teased further, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh, lay off,” he laughed.

They chatted and finished off the first round, the bartender quickly bringing a second plus a pair of birthday shots of tequila that they downed with a shudder and made sure to thank the man for. Half way through the second mixed drink, Jughead looked down at his hands surprisingly. It’d been a long time since he’d had anything since beer and those regretful glasses of wine a few weeks ago.

“Why am I tipsy right now?” he asked curiously.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you kidding?”

“I’m not kidding at all. I might even be a little bit past tipsy.”

“Do you have a low tolerance?”

“I’m not a big drinker,” he shrugged.

“Well, Mr. Lightweight Jones,” she chuckled, “that’s probably why then.”

“My dad was an alcoholic,” he admitted suddenly, sure now that he was feeling the booze in his system but he wanted to tell her this, to let her into some of the darkness in his past.

“Oh,” Betty said unsurely.

“Sorry, that was a random… awkward thing to say,” Jughead said, eyes wide.

“That’s okay. Is he… around?”

“We’re in touch. We see him for Christmas usually. He might come to Riverdale this year.”

“Well that would be nice.”

“Yeah, if it happens,” Jughead laughed darkly.

“You said he’s around… but not really?”

“He was in and out of my life when I was a kid,” Jughead said, his voice slow and sad and thoughtful. “I always wanted to believe he’d get better and sometimes he did. But then six months, maybe a year later, he’d fall back off the wagon and I’d be off finding another place to live.”

“Jughead,” Betty said, her voice tender and her hand on top of his.

“It’s okay,” he said. Betty looked at him skeptically. “I’ve moved on. He’s in Cynthia’s life enough and that’s enough for me. I’ve gotten over not having a dad.”

“I’m sure Cynthia has helped,” she said. “Healing all that.”

By now, it shouldn’t surprise Jughead that she knew him so well.

“It’s nice to be able to give her the things I didn’t have,” he shrugged.

“She loves you so much, Juggie.”

Jughead grinned. “I know. I’m a lucky son of a bitch.”

Betty rolled her eyes playfully and took her hand off of his to take another sip of her whiskey highball.

“You’re a funny drunk, Jughead Jones,” she chuckled.

“I’m always funny. It’s part of my charm.”

“Uh huh,” she said skeptically.

“Think the bartender would give me more free drinks if I told him a sad story about my alcoholic dad?”

“Jughead!” she exclaimed, surprised and wide-eyed.

“What? Sardonic humour is just my way of relating to the world.”

She outright laughed at that and it sent a pleasant flush down his spine, the booze and the fact that she was so close to him making him buzz with electricity.

He reached out in a moment of bravery and grabbed her hand.

“I like holding your hand,” he admitted.

“Oh yeah?” she laughed, clearly amused as she intertwined their fingers.

“Yup.”

She looked down at their hands, the comfort of the situation not lost on Jughead.

“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” she said with a big smile.

“You’re not,” he insisted.

“You’re drunk,” she said, her eyebrows raised for emphasis.

“I promise I want this. I want this when I’m sober too,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

“Really?” she asked tenderly.

“It’s all I think about,” he admitted.

“Jughead…”

“I’m sorry I made you feel bad, Betty,” he said, his voice low now. “I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you the first time and I’m sorry that I’m such a fuck-up and I’m sorry I’m dragging you into this.”

“You’re not dragging me into anything,” she said softly, rubbing her thumb along the side of his hand. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

“You’re too good for me, Betty.”

“I promise I’m not.”

“You are,” he insisted.

“Everyone has their dark side,” she replied back sternly.

“You don’t. You’re all sunshine and happiness and you’re… you’re just a good person.”

Her eyes softened.

“I don’t want to mess this up and it feels like I already have,” he said quietly, some 80’s rock bassline pumping from the speakers in the corner of this dive bar and the alcohol buzzing in his head and yet again he was messing it up.

“I’m not going anywhere, Juggie,” she said. Her voice was tender and there were tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and the thought made his heart hurt but it gave him a glimmer of hope, the thought that she might be emotionally invested in them, too.

“I can’t ask you to wait around until I’m not being a dickhead.”

“You’re not asking me to do anything. I’m telling you that I’m here for you. Like you’ve been there for me.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” she said.

“Still.”

She looked down at their grasped hands.

“You’re a good person, Jughead Jones,” she said, her fingers moving with his again. “You may not think so but it’s obvious to everyone else. You’ve raised an amazing daughter and you’ve deal with a lot of crappy… stuff.”

“Cynthia is all Ashley,” he said with a laugh, 100% serious that their daughter had gotten all her mother’s good qualities and none of either of their bad ones.

“She’s not. She’s probably a lot like her but she’s a lot like you too. Observant and smart and caring. Honest.”

She squeezed his hand and picked up the bill that was placed in front of her. He reached out a hand that felt slightly detached from his body.

“Don’t even think about it,” Betty said, glaring at him, “You’re not paying for drinks on your birthday.”

“It’s not technically my birthday anymore,” he said sheepishly, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time and seeing a text from Archie, a picture of Cynthia sleeping peacefully in her bed.

She rolled her eyes at him and the look only made him want to tease her more.

“I’m taking you home,” she laughed.

He pulled the photo out and looked at the phone again.

“She’s adorable,” Betty said matter-of-factly.

“Okay, well that she _definitely_ got from me,” he laughed.

Betty called an Uber and they sat in the backseat to his house, her promising to spend the night down the block at her sister’s house and to check up on him in the morning.

He was feeling a lot more in control of his emotions and his words now, the half hour since he had switched to drinking water, but his body still seemed to not be cooperating. She walked him up to door and took his keys from him when he couldn’t find the lock, laughing good-heartedly and pushing him in through the door in front of her. He walked into the entryway and kicked off his shoes, sighing in relief at the feeling of the carpet underneath his feet.

“This is the best birthday I’ve had in a long time,” he said as she stood in the doorway, leaning against the door frame and looking at him fondly. .

“I’m glad that Archie could come and make it for you,” she replied, her cheeks flushed from he didn’t know what but it made his heart beat a little faster.

“It wasn’t just Archie,” he said slowly, placing his hand on her shoulder and running it down her arm slowly. Her eyes snapped up to his questioningly. “My birthday was good because it was with you, Betty.”

A flicker of hope passed over her face before she smiled and went to tease him, leaning into his hand and bumping their shoulders a little bit. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“There are no other girls, Betty,” he said seriously, his voice low and serious and the flicker came back, engulfing her eyes and the smile she gave him next that took his breath away fully.

“Jughead Jones,” she said, her tone mirroring his in a way that made him gulp.

There a moment of silence and she looked like she couldn’t decide what to do.

“You should go to bed,” she said sweetly and slightly patronizingly and teasingly and he had a strange feeling his stomach that she wanted to come with him and he wanted it so badly too but this wasn’t the time or the place or the state of mind and he wouldn’t be better for her yet. He wanted so badly to give her all of him and he just wasn’t there yet. She deserved all of him.

“Whatever you say, Betty Cooper,” he laughed.

“I’m going to walk to Polly’s,” she said, squeezing his hand briefly and opening the door.

“Text me when you get home okay?”

“Will do,” she confirmed with a nod and a suppressed smile.

He watched her walk down to the sidewalk, turning back to give him a small wave, and had a feeling that birthdays might not be so bad from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and sticking by this story! I fell in love with the idea of a chapter surrounding Jughead's birthday, but the way that Betty would do something for him when they were ten years older and more mature. Something that he would really enjoy, not a party that she used for herself. It's so fun to write them as more mature adults, the way that they would have developed in the years that they didn't know each other. I just love them so much!!!
> 
> Please leave a comment with your thoughts! I read every single one and it means the world to me! x


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that there's not a whole lot of Betty this chapter - but stay tuned! There will be more of them in the next chapter.
> 
> Enjoy x

“How’re your appointments going?” Archie asked 24 hours later as they sat on the couch together in the late hours of the night, Cynthia long tucked away under the blankets and fast asleep.

It was startling to Jughead, to be sitting with his childhood best friend who turned into his adult best friend. After all these years, here they were, being adults in the house that he owned and talking about his therapy appointments. It felt too grown up.

“They’re okay,” Jughead shrugged. “I kicked them up to twice a week after the whole… Betty thing.”

“Why?”

Jughead blushed. “I just… want to do better for her, I guess. And for Cynthia. And… and for myself, too.”

“That’s great, man.”

“It feels good. I think it’s helping.”

“How’s Betty been doing since the… thing?”

Jughead didn’t let himself feel guilt or embarrassment at his slightly tipsy admissions to Betty. He didn’t indulge himself and let himself feel bad and instead he told himself that it was okay and that that’s life. Getting too drunk on your birthday, saying things you meant but wouldn’t say totally sober, falling harder for a girl you’d liked since day one. Instead of filling with negative thoughts about himself, he let himself be filled with positive thoughts about Betty.

“She’s amazing,” Jughead groaned, his head falling back onto the headrest of the couch. “She just gets it and… still hangs out while I can’t get my shit together.”

“Give yourself some time. She’s the first girl you’ve… shit, you’ve even _liked_ since Ashley,” Archie replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Not everything is going to happen overnight.”

“I like her so much that I feel like a teenager,” Jughead admitted sheepishly.

“I already said give yourself some time.”

“Enough time and she’ll start feeling like a second choice.”

“She _knows_ she’s not your second choice.”

“Does she?”

“That’s… that’s not how this works. It’s not a second choice when you never knew them at the same time,” Archie said with a shrug.

Jughead turned to look at him, reminded of all the times over their lives they shared rooms and experiences and heartaches.

“You’re right,” he admitted, slightly shocked at the reality of the statement.

“It’s been known to happen,” Archie laughed, taking another swig of his beer.  

They fell into a silence and Jughead listened carefully for any noise coming upstairs, making sure Cynthia was still asleep.

His thoughts went to yesterday and Betty. The way she looked in the reflection of the neon lights and the dark windows, the way that her skin glowed and her eyes sparkled and the way that she was showing him every single day that he cared, her words through his drunken stupor that she wasn’t going anywhere, that she was there for him.

He saw all of her moments flashing through his head like a Viewmaster from his childhood, clicking through the slides and seeing different scenes before his eyes. Her on the first day of school as he wiped tears from his eyes, her dragging him to get a cup of coffee and paying and making him laugh and feel better. Her crying in his kitchen, desperately wanting a normal family and sharing her scars with him, vulnerability in her voice and feeling so touched that she chose to come to him, to share this with him. Picking up Cindy and carrying her around when she got hurt, looking at him with all the affection in her eyes as he took care of his daughter. The way that she felt in his arms as they danced, warm and soft, making everything feel like it was going to be okay.

How she didn’t think less of him when he freaked out, how understanding she was, how much she cared about him, how everything he learned about her made him like her more. He felt himself feeling more and more intensely about her.

It worried him, to be feeling all of this and suddenly the urge to get something off his chest hit him like a ton of bricks.

A thought occurred in his head, the thought that maybe what he knew about love wasn’t true.

“Do you think that you can have more than one soul mate?” Jughead asked, the vulnerability in his voice surprising him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Archie turned to look at him thoughtfully, slightly surprised, and then back to the television.

“I think… I think life brings you who you need eventually.”

“But… soul mates?” Jughead repeated, swallowed thickly.

“You can have more than one, because you fall in love more than once. Maybe with the same person, maybe with different people, but it all works out in the end.”

It was weird to think about, labeling the feelings he was experiencing with something as intense as soul mates.

“I think life brought me Betty,” Jughead said quickly.

Archie’s eyebrows raised to blend into his hair.

“You’re that… I don’t know… serious about her?” he asked, eyes full of surprise.

“I’m… yeah,” Jughead said with a nod.

“What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t want to be some… half-person when we’re together. I want to give her everything, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m getting there,” Jughead insisted, more to himself than his best friend.

“You’ll get there,” Archie said, clapping him on the back.

* * *

The week after his birthday, the weather started changing, the mornings growing brisk and chilly in a way that said autumn was here, the trees dropping crunchy orange leaves to the ground as he walked Cynthia to and from school everyday.

Jughead tended to be romantic about the seasons, the metaphorical passing between different parts of the cycle of life bringing out all the sappy emotions from the deep, poetic corners of his soul. The fireflies and green grass and thunderstorms of summer gave way to the warm, rich colors of fall and it felt like a breath of fresh air, the stifling heat giving way to the cool comfort of sweaters and hot coffee.

They went to a fall festival that acknowledged every stereotype that Jughead dreamed up, with hayrides and pumpkin picking and caramel apples that stuck in his teeth for what felt like forever but the hectic commotion of the fairgrounds was worth it to see the smile on Cynthia’s face, her expression carefree and looking around like it was magic.

He supposed it was magic to her. She’d never been to a fair before.

The house felt more settled into, too. He bought some Halloween decorations, fake light up pumpkins to put in the windows and little candle holders to line the pathway up to the front door. It was starting to really feel like home, as he typed on his computer during the days or at the kitchen table, the golden fall light making their home feel even prettier than ever as Cynthia picked up the fallen acorns in the backyard, floating around in her fairy outfit he’d bought her last year for Christmas. He had hung up some of his favorite art on the walls - Klimt and Degas and Lichtenstein.

Cynthia would come home one day raving about what her classmates were going to be for Halloween and she went on brainstorming about what her perfect costume would be, bouncing between the idea of a cat and a police officer and a princess and a wrestler she’d seen on TV one time. Jughead looked online and they went to the store to pick it out, roaming the aisles patiently as she decided what she wanted to be, weighing the pros and cons of every outfit. She was so excited to be actually trick-or-treating and he finally realized it was because she’d never lived somewhere that going house to house was the norm; she’d always gone from apartment door to apartment door.

He felt a flush of pride that he could provide something like that to her, the normal childhood experiences he wished he’d had. Nothing was worrying her except for whether or not a classmate would have the same costume.

There were more moments when Jughead felt the peace that came with small town life overwhelm him in the best way. Cynthia had joined a fall soccer team and he sat in his lawn chair on the side of the field like the dad he wished he’d had, watching an adorable group of tiny boys and girls play bunch ball on a little soccer field, cheering whenever she got to touch the ball and laughing goodnaturedly with the rest of the parents when someone fell over.

The house being finished meant he didn’t get out as much for errands and he forced himself to start working at the coffee shop more, curling up in the corner and letting the cathartic action of writing take over, pushing through the intense bouts of writer’s block, soothing the aches and pains thudding at the back of his heart.

* * *

He hadn’t been lying to Archie; his appointments had been going well, slowly but surely making him feel better, chipping away at the massive blocks of guard he’d put up over the years, the trust issues and the abandonment issues and the grief piling on top of each other. It was somehow deeper and easier now; there were less tears and more breakthroughs, less tension and more acknowledgement of progress.

He tried to talk more about Ashley to Cynthia. He had avoided her name for so long and once the floodgate had opened, it was like he couldn’t stop.

“After Ashley died I just shut down. I went into dad mode. I didn’t think about it, didn’t process it, I just tried to get through.”

“That’s normal,” Dr. Lopez assured him.

“And I’ve been so scared for so long. Scared of letting someone else into our life. Scared of losing them again and building a life around someone who’s going to disappear. So I shut down. I didn’t make any new friends and I didn’t do anything, I just stayed in the apartment and tried to be a dad and I just thought it’d be easier. I mean, shit, I barely even saw Archie.

“And it’s like a part of me that was… dead is alive again and that’s… _terrifying_. I could seriously be… liking someone and the only other person I’ve ever loved was Ashley and I’m finally getting it, that this isn’t that scary. Or maybe it is that scary but I deserve it. I deserve to have all these feelings and that’s life, right?

“And now all the feelings are so intense, three fucking years of feelings, that it’s just so much and so overwhelming. I feel too much. I haven’t been anything but Dad and babysitter and caretaker and writer. I’m not like… fun Jughead anymore and now I want to bring back all the pieces I had before.”

He took a deep breath as she looked at him thoughtfully.

“What would help you get back to that?” she asked.

The first thing that pops into his head is Betty’s smile, but he pushes that down.

“Time,” he said honestly. “And this. Talking about it.”

“Loss is inevitable. You’re going to face it time and time again and each time you’ll be stronger.”

The thought comforted Jughead.

* * *

He went back to the city on a rainy weekend in the middle of the month for a meeting with his publisher to go over cover designs and final drafting for his next book.

It had been easier, to stay away from Betty for the last couple weeks. Archie had been in town and she’d had big deadlines for the paper, a large government scandal breaking out regarding something in the commissioner's office or a drug bust or something that he didn’t really follow that closely until he realized she was the one covering it. Jughead still couldn’t bring himself to care about the issue, but he read Betty’s articles from afar under the lamp light of his desk in the early hours of the morning, the screen of his laptop glowing sharply on his face. Her writing was good, really good actually, and from then on he binged on everything that she’d ever published, going to the library to look up old issues of _The Register_ , pouring over her words as he forced himself to stay away and work on his own issues.

After a long conversation with Dr. Lopez, he finally gave in and decided to make a detour on his trip to the city. On the little puddle jumper of a plane, he tried to get up the guts to do something he’d meant to do for years, that he had pushed into the back of his consciousness and chosen to ignore, the guilt bubbling into him like a hot bowl of acid.

But he forced himself to do it.

_“You have to try.”_

He drove his rental car down the road and made himself to take big, deep breaths, forcing air deep into his lungs and keeping his heart rate steady, his hands gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

He walked down the path and through the gate under the thick blanket of autumn rain, collar pulled up and beanie down over his ears, feeling heavier with each step but more and more like this was where he was supposed to be in this moment. A sense of foreboding and a simultaneous sense of purpose, like he was meeting his reckoning in a weird way, the shoulders of his jacket dripping heavy raindrops.

When he reached his destination, he looked up at the sky and took a deep breath.

Ashley’s grave sat in front of him in the ground, the quintessential reminder of mortality and loss and he wanted to throw up or run away or be anywhere but there in that moment. Instead he took another breath and counted to five before letting it out.

He hadn’t been here since the small funeral they’d held, putting what seemed like an enormous amount of money on a credit card because he had to do something and funerals were expensive. In his mind’s eye, he saw the load of oppressively large flower arrangements framing a picture of Ashley’s smiling face sitting nearby as they lowered her casket into the ground. It felt traditional and formal and _final_ in a way that Ashley never was when she was glowing, full of fire and life and untraditional in every way. The moment wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to be happening but it was and if it were to happen it shouldn’t have been like this. Cynthia had started crying half-way through and Jughead had held her in his arms, gripping her like she was the only thing in the world, focusing on the sound of her breathing and the fact that she was alive in his arms, that he had to stay strong because he was all she had left.

His baby girl, living and breathing and motherless.

The feelings of being back were overwhelming. It was like he was back in that moment all over again but this time he forced himself to feel it, to sink into the emotion and let it wash over him. He took a deep breath through the sobs and tried to let go of the guilt of not being able to save her or do more in her final months, of sitting by and being helpless, of drowning in medical and daycare bills, of not understanding what the doctor was saying to him, of not understanding why this had to happen to them, to his little family.

Moments passed over him while sitting on the wet grass that he felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he was suffocating under the grief, and he felt like he might die from the heartache, like his world was crashing down around him all over again.

He forced himself to stay until he stopped crying, rubbing his fingers over the stone in the ground. He sat there for an hour, picking the overgrown weeds off, cleaning it with the Lysol and paper towels he’d bought at a gas station on the way over. He did all that and he cried. He cried and he cried.  

He felt it in his core, deep in his bones and at the back of his throat. The loss was still fresh, the emotions still there at the back of his subconscious. He’d never mourned her like this, sobbing at the graveyard with the other broken families. He’d pushed himself off of the grief, pushing himself towards Cynthia and it was coming to a head in his life, the fact that he’d never dealt with it all.

His jeans were soaked through, his converse covered in mud and still he stayed, taking deep breaths and telling himself that he had to try, he had to try his hardest to get through this.

He thought of Ashley, her hair and their matching leather jackets and how young they were, how anything and everything was the end of the world back then, how the wrong tone sent them fighting and a fight made them break up and then it was the same cycle over again. It was an adolescent relationship at its core, immature and full of anger and resentment. They would have grown together, if they’d had the chance. It felt like a lifetime away, an unimaginable alternate reality.

His thoughts led him to Cynthia, thoughtful and vibrant and smart as a whip, constantly questioning the world around her and curious about everything. The way she looked up at him with laughter in her eyes, the way her giggles carried down the stairs, the way her face lit up when she learned something new. He loved her so much he felt it in his every inch of his soul. It was hard to imagine life before Cindy, before he got the most important job in his life. He wanted to be better for her. A better dad, a better protector, a better provider.

Jughead thought about his own dad, a deadbeat most of the time but trying his best in recent years, plagued with years of unhealthy communication and abusive parents and money problems. FP had sent a birthday card with a $5 bill in it earlier this month and it seemed so mundane but made Jughead feel normal, like this is what families did at the beginning of rekindling their relationships. He’d put it on the mantle of the fireplace and stared at it for a few minutes, wondering if it was possible to start looking up to someone when he was almost thirty.

He thought of Betty and how Riverdale wouldn’t be Riverdale without her.

He wiped his nose sloppily on the front of his tee shirt as the gentle sun peeked through the big beech trees. It was almost so cliche he could be sick, the sun coming out as he sat by his former girlfriend’s grave, but he was thankful, thankful for the respite and the feeling of sunshine on his face, the rain wearing on him like the emotions did, tears pouring down his cheeks. It felt like a new beginning.

The guilt that had eroded his heart little by little over the last few years had lightened, the guilt at the idea of her messy tombstone holding a weight on his heart and the fear of facing everything keeping him back.

As he walked out, back down the path and through the gate, hands deep in the pockets of his worn out jeans, he saw a family walking down the sidewalk in the distance, the young boy swinging between the hands of his two parents, laughing and smiling.

It sounded stupid when he let himself think it, but it felt like a sign. It was a normal family on a normal fall day but the weight lifted further, feeling like he could breathe deeply again and he wanted to cry with relief.

This was his reality now. This was life. He was a single dad of the best little girl in the whole world. He had an alcoholic dad and a runaway mother. A younger sister who was part way through college, whose education he was funding. A life that he left in the city to come out to Riverdale and start something new and fresh.

It all existed at the same time in the same place. He loved Ashley and he loved his dad and he loved Cynthia and Jellybean and his mom and Archie and he cared for Betty in ways that he wouldn’t dare label as love yet, but they could all exist at the same time, all the feelings and all the individuals and all the love. The guilt wasn’t necessary and the feelings of grief could occur simultaneously to the feelings of joy. Regret and relief could happen concurrently.

He was buzzing with energy and completely drained. He let the emotions take him up and down as he drove back into the city.

When he got back to the hotel he wrote fervently, pouring his thoughts into words and attempting to articulate all that he was feeling, the closing of one chapter and the opening of the next one, the setting of one sun and the creation of another. It was like something was beginning in his life, the next portion where things were finally rolling and clearing.

Clarity, he called it. The acceptance that bad things happen. The idea that life moves on. The fact that more than one person can fill the whole in your heart. An argument for doing what you know you need to do even if it’s scary.

It was 3 am by the time he fell asleep on his computer trying not to think about Betty.

* * *

He came back for Halloween, taking his daughter, who was giddy with excitement at the witch costume that she’d picked out a few weeks back.

He was excited too. He’d bought a ton of candy to put out on the porch (probably way too much candy) and got a new candy bag with her name on it from the mall. It was these little things, being both emotionally and financially able to do these things that made him happy with excitement. They walked hand in hand along the sidewalk between the houses, Jughead standing at the end of the walkways with the other parents while the kids went up to the doors in little troupes, screaming with glee as animatronic ghosts and monsters popped out at them as they went for their candy.

Unsurprisingly, Betty was with the twins and their friends, walking around with Polly, and Jughead found himself standing at the end of the row with him, having met at a mutual house while they moved in different directions.

“Hey,” Jughead said sheepishly, returning Betty’s greeting hug and Polly’s wave.

“How’ve you been, stranger?” Betty asked playfully, bumping their shoulders together in a touch that felt so familiar it was almost nostalgic. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Polly drift away slowly, looking at her phone and giving them space.

“I’m good,” he said honestly. “Been uh… working through a lot of stuff.”

She smiled knowingly.

“That’s great, Jug,” she said honestly.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I went to the city, too. Work, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s been a little crazy for us, too.”

“I’m sorry if it felt like I was ignoring you.”

“It didn’t.”

“I’m still sorry either way. I’m just trying to… work on some stuff.”

She turned to meet his eyes, her arms crossed over her chest and her expression thoughtful.

“You said that. I think that’s really good,” she said, her voice a little sad as she bit her bottom lip. “I’m proud of you, Jughead.”

“I… thanks,” he said with a blush, running his hand through the back of his hair. “I’m still sorry I haven’t called.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Jughead,” she said with a laugh, the more serious tone broken. “You’ll get there. You’re trying, that’s the important part.”

“I… yeah, I am,” he said, surprised that she took the words from his head but somehow deep down not surprised. Why would it surprise him by now that it felt like she could read his mind? She knew what he was feeling and thinking before he expressed it. “I’m trying.”

“That’s good,” she said simply, suppressing a smile.

The kids came back down in a flurry of excitement and noise and all of sudden they’re saying goodbye and walking down the sidewalk in opposite directions.

He turned back around to look at her one last time to see that she had turned back too. Their eyes met, his heart speeding in his chest.

She gave a small wave and a smile before turning away from him and walking on. He grabbed Cynthia's hand and grinned to himself as they went up to the next house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were concerned about Jughead's feelings for Betty and ability to be in a relationship, I'd love to hear your thoughts! It's so difficult to have faith in my writing sometimes as it seems like a lot of readers felt that he may never be ready and couldn't possibly come back from it, but hopefully this gave you a little bit of insight into where I plan on taking things. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and sticking by this story!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Betty and Jughead didn’t hang out for a few weeks there in October but have no fear, the holidays are coming ;) Parties and cocktails galore. Buckle up.

November came swiftly (as it often did after Halloween) and suddenly Cynthia was busy with a Thanksgiving play that Jughead tried to optimistic about without letting his anti-colonial seep into it. (Really - a play about the pilgrims that didn’t show the mass slaughter and appropriate of native peoples? Gross). Instead he grinned with fire running through his veins and bore it, decided that maybe five years old wasn’t the right time to give his daughter a lecture about the evils of their home country. It just wasn’t age-appropriate. 

The month turned dreary, like the lack of Betty in his life had caused the weather sour. It was rainy and gross nearly every day and the summer light that he’d loved so much in their house quickly dissipated as the days grew short. He chugged along on his book but as the shadows grew longer in the afternoon, he found it harder and harder to concentrate, turning to the coffee shop and the diner more and more for a refuge around people.

Jughead had tried to quit his Betty habit until he was more together but the more he tried, the more that he missed her. October had passed in a flurry of book business, phone meetings and more scandal in the government and he missed her but he was getting closer, he could feel it at the bottom of his toes and fingers. He was getting closer. 

It had been nearly a month since they’d really hung out, since he’d gotten to make her laugh more than once in a row, since they’d spent time together besides seeing each other briefly while picking the kids up from school. He brought her a coffee one day and she wasn’t there and he was stuck with an extra cup as he sat on the bench by himself, the drink hot against his hand as he sighed deeply. 

He knew that she was trying to give him space. He knew that it wasn’t fair to her to make him wait and on a certain level he felt like she wasn’t waiting now. He hadn’t asked her to wait, he hadn’t told her to. But still she was. He knew that she was trying to wait and give him space. The ball was in his court.

The connection he felt to her overwhelmed him in some moments, the pull to call her so strong that it left a bad taste in his mouth. He thought of kissing her, of the way she would taste, of her lips that he just knew would be soft. The thought of it before had brought a flutter of anxiety to his stomach but now it just made him nervous in a way that was probably typical for someone thinking about someone that they were developing stronger and stronger feelings for. 

There was distance between them and somehow his feelings were still growing. He didn’t know if it was the fact that he was working on himself so rigorously that the thought of a relationship was actually exciting him or if it was just that he missed her friendship and companionship. Either way, his feelings, even when apart from her, were getting heavier and stronger and more intense. He tried to rationalize it, thinking back to how there were times that he felt the same way with his family and especially with Cynthia, the distance only making his heart grow fonder. But it was something more than that. Something more than fondness.

One part of the habits that he’d picked up over the last few years was forgetting to get in touch with people, closing himself off and pushing people away, scared of another person that he could lose being close to him. But he said he would try, so he made the effort to call Archie more often. The redhead was seeing a new girl now, Veronica, some Park Ave Princess who Arch seemed totally infatuated with, talking more than normal about her parents and smart and witty she was, how she was showing him all these new things. Jughead liked hearing him happy.

He called his dad and while it was awkward and made Jughead’s throat constrict even thinking about putting himself out there enough to start a routine that circled around his dad’s responsiveness, it was worth it to be able to move past the things that he’d never dealt with, the abandonment issues that he had pushed down a million times in an effort to feel and fake some sort of normal.

The thing about growing up was that you realized your parents were just people. People who made mistakes and people who are wrong a lot and who have bad communication and conflict habits just like everyone else does. Jughead had realized some time after Cynthia was born that FP had done his best even if it hadn’t looked like it from the outside. It messed him up in a lot of ways but it was nothing that some therapy and a lot of parenting books couldn’t fix eventually. 

In all honesty, Jughead couldn’t say with certainty that he wouldn’t have ended up the same way if he’d been in FP’s shoes. He couldn’t say that he hadn’t been a bad parent at times too, pushing things down in a way that could have affected Cynthia eventually. Maybe it did and he hadn’t even noticed it. 

He talked to Jellybean too, making plans for her graduation weekend in the city the following May. They talked about their mom, who was going back to school to become a nurse and had started dating again. Halfway through the conversation he found himself apologizing to JB, how he didn’t ever call her for a couple years after Ashley died, how he hadn’t come for Thanksgiving, how he didn’t visit enough, how he hadn’t been there for her when she needed it. The feelings of guilt came up like bubbling stomach acid before he could stop them. There were a few moments of radio silence until JB sighed a big sigh and told him that she’d forgiven him for all that years ago.

JB’s forgiveness and letting go of the guilt of not visiting Ashley’s grave and getting to talk to Arch and his dad more all made the load a little easier to bear, each part of the puzzle chipping away at the block in his chest. Deep down somewhere under his sternum, he was starting to let go of the fear, imagining it floating away in the breeze like the leaves under his feet when they lifted off the ground as he walked to the coffee shop.

One late Saturday afternoon when Cynthia was at a friend’s birthday party, Jughead sat in his customary chair at his normal table, cupping the warm coffee mug in his hands as he scanned through the final chapter of his story, picking it apart like his editor would, trying to think of everything that could be wrong with it. The writer’s block that he’d felt for a while had eased up. He struggled against the words sometimes, tugging and twisting them unnaturally until they flowed like he wanted. Sometimes it was easier than others. The coffee shop helped a lot of the time, the inside warm and cozy and by now the workers knew his order and brought free refills to his workspace every hour or so, especially when he holed up for a whole afternoon as poured outside. 

The bell on the door twinkled lightly and in walked Betty Cooper, raincoat matching her rubber boots, shaking out her umbrella on the mat by the door.

She noticed him instantly, moments after he noticed her. 

“Hi,” she said, sitting down in the seat across from him, smoothing her ponytail and dusting the raindrops from the sleeves of her jacket.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said unsurely. 

“I’m in here all the time,” she said disbelievingly, her tone playful.

“Not when I’m in here,” he said defensively.

“Well I’m _so_ sorry, then,” she teased. The sound of her giggle sent his heart into overdrive. 

“I… you haven’t been around school much,” he said suddenly, instantly regretting his words.

She stopped looking at her hands and their eyes met. 

“I wanted to give you some space,” she said softly, her expression unsure.

“You don’t have to do that,” he insisted. “You were here way before I was.”

“But your daughter goes there,” she said. “It’s just my niece and nephew.”

He gave her a look that he hoped said “shut up” and rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t want you to go away,” he said softly. Her eyes pulled up to meet his. “I hope you know that.”

She nodded, her eyes soft and she was looking at him like she wanted to kiss him as she bit her lip. He looked down to notice their fingers centimeters apart, creeping towards each other. Her cheeks were flushed and he was sure that his matched, heat crawling up his neck as he realized how close they were. He could feel the electricity between them, the urge to intertwine their fingers growing stronger with each second. He inched forward and their fingertips touched slightly, the lightest brush of his skin against hers, his breath catching in his throat and their eyes met in a second.

The barista came up suddenly and they jumped apart suddenly, Betty clasping her fingers together in her lap and Jughead crossing his arms. They sheepishly looked away from each other.  She said hi to Betty and refilled Jughead’s cup, looking between them curiously. He thanked her and she walked away, turning back to look at them again with furrowed brows and a confused exhale. 

He saw Betty’s eyes flick to it and then back up to his eyes with a blush. The worker walked away and he looked down at the coffee. 

“You want some?” he asked, pushing the mug towards her unsurely. “I’ve probably had too much already.” 

“You sure?” she asked, looking uncertain. 

“Very sure. I’m dangerously caffeinated,” he said dryly.

“Thanks,” she said gratefully, taking the hot drink between her hands and sighing contentedly. 

“You’re welcome,” he said as she took a sip, trying to ignore the fact that her lips were now where his lips had been mere moments ago. She left a ring of something shiny on the edge of the mug and wiped it off with her thumb, running her finger along the rim gracefully. 

“I needed this,” she admitted softly, taking a small sip, not meeting his eyes. 

“The coffee?”

“I… I’ve missed you, Juggie,” she said softly,

“Shit, Betty, I’ve… I’ve missed you  _ so _ much,” he sighed with relief, the weight of keeping the sentiment inside lifting instantly. He grabbed her shoulder across the table without a second thought, wanting to comfort her, and gave it a squeeze. She leaned into it a little bit, her eyes glowing with affection..

“Are you busy right now?” she asked, taking a big gulp of coffee.

“Now? Uh, no?” he answered confusedly. “Just writing and I gotta pick Cynthia up in a couple hours and-”

She got up without a word, taking another large gulp from the cup and walking towards the door.

“Well,” she said, turning towards him so quickly that her ponytail slapped the side of her head, “are you coming or not?” 

He shoved his laptop in his bag, threw a few crumpled dollar bills on the table, and jogged after her.

* * *

“You  _ have _ to come,” Betty said resolutely as they pushed the cart they were sharing through the aisles of Target. “You aren’t allowed to spend your first Riverdale Thanksgiving by yourself.”

They fell back into the easiest conversation ever, her tugging at his heartstrings and him teasing her with every word. He’d forgotten how smart and quippy and funny she was, how good he felt about himself when he was around her. There she was, thinking of his best interest again as he walked sheepishly next to her, not wanting him to spend Thanksgiving by himself, hands deep in his pockets. He pushed off the thought of trying to turn her down and instead focused on things he needed for the house.

“Hey, I take offense to that,” he said, pulling a three-pack of Lysol wipes off the shelf and placing them in the cart. “I wouldn’t be alone.”

Betty raised her eyebrows at him.

“Cynthia would be there,” he said with mock-explanation.

“Oh my goodness, Jughead,” she laughed. “You can’t act like that would be the best Thanksgiving ever. How do you even cook a turkey for two people?”

“It wouldn’t be the  _ worst _ Thanksgiving ever,” he reasoned as they turned the corner.

“Juggie…” she sighed, pausing in her walk.

“Stop that,” he said sternly, turning back to look at her with an accusing finger. “Stop feeling bad for me.”

“I don’t feel  _ bad _ for you per say.” He looked at her disbelievingly and she shrugged, a smile creeping onto her face and ending in a laugh. “I just think you’d have  _ so _ much more fun with us, you know?”

“I do have fun with you,” he admitted.

“I know,” she teased.

“Why’re you so nice, huh? Why can’t you just let me live as a curmudgeon with my adorable five-year-old like a normal widowed father?” 

“I’m so very sorry for forcing you to be my friend,” she laughed. 

“You should be,” he said stubbornly. 

“Anyways, people are coming at 3, dinner’s at 4. You can come whenever; Cynthia can play with the twins while I cook and all that.”

“While  _ you _ cook?”

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

“You’re not even hosting.”

“Does that mean I can’t help?”

“Don’t Polly and Daniel cook?”

“Uh,” she said, like she was hiding something, “they do, I guess. I just help out a lot.”

“You’re too nice,” he said matter-of-factly. “Too nice for your own good, Betty Cooper.”

“I’m not! I promise I’m not,” she laughed. 

“You are,” he insisted, his hand finding the ever familiar spot on her shoulder, her skin cool against his clammy hands. “You’re a good friend and I don’t say it enough, so just… thanks.”

“Jug…”

“I’m serious. You’ve been… really great and really thoughtful and I just want to say thanks.”

She placed her hand on top of his and leaned onto their intertwined fingers. 

“You’re sweet, Jughead Jones.”

“Nope.”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“I am  _ not _ . I’m dark and brooding and mysterious.”

“Uh huh,” she giggled. “Or you’re just a big teddy bear on the inside.”

“I’m not!”

“Anyone who’s ever seen you with Cynthia would disagree,” she said, her eyes definitively full of affection, the lines at the corners soft and sappy. 

“Whatever,” he shrugged “She’s the only family I’ve got.”

Betty all but ignored his self-deprecating comment and chirped on. “My parents will be there. You’ll get to meet the infamous Cooper clan.”

The thought made him oddly nervous and he had to choke back the idea of cancelling, thinking about how disappointed Betty would probably be if he didn’t show up. 

“Should I bring something?” he asked, checking the back of the shampoo bottle. 

“Does this mean you’re actually going to be there?” she laughed.

“That’s what adults do right, they bring something?” he repeated.

Betty laughed. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know, like a bottle of wine or something?”

“I can cook, you know,” he said. “I could bring, you know… actual food.”

“Mhm,” she said, the tone of her sound a little too nonchalant. 

“I can!”

“Dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets don’t count,” she said, taking the cart from him and pushing it in front of them.

“Is that what you think that I eat? Poultry in the form of triassic creatures?”

“I’m sure you could do Easy Mac, too,” she teased, turning to look at him, “if you really tried hard enough.”

“I’m hurt,” he replied, his hand on his chest, “Truly hurt.”

“I can definitely tell,” she said, biting her lip and looking at him with big eyes and thick eyelashes, a slight flush on her cheeks and the neck behind her ponytail. She looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his belt.

His eyes widened and in another moment he felt the breath knocked out of his lungs as his jaw dropped straight to the floor.

“You are a tease and a half, Elizabeth Cooper,” he said, his voice thick and his pants a little tight. 

“It’s only a tease if you knew it weren’t an option,” she said honestly, her eyebrows raised as she leaned on the top of the cart. 

“I…” 

“Shut up, Jughead,” she laughed, her eyes full of mischief again, light and playful, “We still need to get the stuff for the gravy.”

“I…” he stuttered again. 

“I’m serious, I’ll leave you behind if you don’t hurry up,” she giggled.

He hurried up, all but jogging after her into the produce section.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me on Tumblr! quirksandcaffeine
> 
> Also - what do you want to see in the next few chapters? This has turned into a fairly slow burn but I'd love to hear some ideas.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - one of my longest chapters ever! Enjoy x

Jughead felt good. Better than he’d felt in a long time. 

It felt like a cliché, the words that he tried to match to how he felt. The _ flood gates had opened _ on something that he had been holding back. He had  _ turned a new leaf _ . It was all trite and overplayed and somehow it still fit. (He wondered if nostalgia and corniness were byproducts of getting older. He had a sneaking suspicion that they were.)

He kept going to his bi-weekly appointments and the more that his doctor helped him work through things and rebuild the paths his thoughts took, the deeper he felt like he could breathe. There was a larger arsenal of coping mechanisms, more ways to talk himself down, more things that felt like they were going right. Bad days still happened and sometimes he still cried himself to sleep with guilt and grief but those nights were getting fewer and farther between, no longer being the normal to feel numb and desolate, but hopeful and alive. 

Betty came to school the next week to pick the twins up, like he had hoped she would after he repeatedly told her that he didn’t need that kind of space. He hadn’t had a coffee for himself or her but she still stayed and talked to him, bumping their shoulders playfully and asking him about his book and Cynthia and Archie and life in general.

He had missed her. He missed the deeper talks with her when they spilled their guts about their messed up families and he decided to steer the conversation away from him and towards her, guiltily realizing that he hadn’t asked her about her family or work in a while, too justifiably caught up in his own nonsense for the last few weeks. He brought up the topic of  _ The Register  _ and her face went sour as they sat on the curb of the playground after school while the kids played for a while, the rain turning the kids into little indoor devils desperate for some outdoor time. 

“Well, the window is finally fixed,” she tried to joke, but it came darkly and resentfully out of her mouth.

“Does that mean the Cooper clan isn’t all… good again?”

“It means,” she sighed, “that my parents are a mess but still expect really great things out of us.”

“Us?” he asked with raised eyebrows, a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t Polly that had a lot of pressure on her.

“Well… more me, I guess,” she admitted sheepishly, picking imaginary lint from her dark wash jeans.

“They don’t expect that out of Polly?”

“I think they kind of gave that up when… she became a teen mom,” she laughed, “And then with Jason… she’s just had a tougher life, I guess. They give her more slack.”

“Well that sucks,” Jughead insisted, putting his arm around her.

“It does,” she said seriously, looking up at him. “They’re doing this big Veteran’s day thing and they just sprung it on me literally out of the middle of nowhere. All of a sudden it’s this whole extra section I have to research and write and get the designer to come and stay late because I can’t get everything done in time and-”

“Take a deep breath,” Jughead laughed, shaking her shoulders a little bit to pull her out of her rant. She smiled gratefully and leaned into him slightly.

“I’ve been in the office like 8 to 1 am everyday this week. This is the first time I’ve seen daylight in I don’t know how long,” she said. “I even slept there one night.”

“You’re going to be that late tonight?” Jughead asked, a thought forming in his head.

“Yeah, unless my parents magically decide to become logical people again,” she said, looking at him.

“Well… maybe we shouldn’t hold our breath for that,” he laughed.

A blur of movement caught his attention in the corner of his eye and he lowered his hand to small of Betty’s back, wishing it wasn’t so cold and their jackets weren’t so thick, and soon as he turned, a ball of pent up energy called Cynthia launched itself into their conversation.

“Uh, Cynds, we’re kind of talking here,” Jughead laughed.

Cynthia took no notice and climbed into Betty’s lap with a big hug.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Betty laughed, wrapping her arms around his daughter’s tiny frame. 

“I missed you,” Cynthia said softly, smiling up at the blonde and playing with her necklace, a little heart locket on a delicate gold chain.

“I missed you, too!” Betty exclaimed, tucking some of Cynthia’s hair behind her ear, looking down on her fondly. “How’s school?”

“Good, I finished my very first chapter book today!” Cynthia said proudly. 

“Wow, you did? What was it about?”

Jughead loved that Betty knew about kids. He loved that she didn’t just say, “Oh, Cynthia, I like your dress.” She asked about his daughter’s schooling and how she was learning and whether she was making friends. There weren’t conversations about trivial things, but she focused important things instead. The kinds of things that Jughead wanted to raise Cynthia to value.

He watched them for a few moments, the affection clear in Cynthia’s brown eyes as she looked up at Betty and talked animatedly. He had a guilty thought that Cynthia didn’t have a whole lot of women in her life up until now and all of a sudden she had multiple, Betty and Polly and her teacher and her friends at school. It wasn’t just them anymore, their circle had grown and developed bigger than he’d expected. An immediate weight grew in his chest but he breathed through and talked himself down from the feelings of worthlessness and despair, instead focusing on the smile on her face, seeing her mouth move but hearing only his heart beating in his chest.

“You okay, Juggie?” Betty asked suddenly, turning towards him, eyes full of concern. 

He patted her thigh in what he hoped was a comforting way before taking Cynthia from her arms and holding her close, nodding surely. 

“I’m good,” he said, meaning it fully, placing kisses to Cynthia’s cheek as she squealed.

* * *

Sometimes, Jughead yearned for the days before he was a dad. When he could just leave and do what he wanted without securing someone to watch Cynthia, without packing a bag with a change of clothes and snacks before he left the house, before scheduling his entire life around this tiny, amazing human he had a part in creating.

He wouldn’t trade fatherhood for anything but it was a different life now.

Like tonight. He had an overwhelming urge to get out of the house and do something very specific but he couldn’t very well leave his five-year-old alone without child Protective Services getting called.

At 9 pm, after more than hour of going back and forth, trying not to do what he wanted to do, he gave in and rang up his neighbor.

“Hey, Daniel? This - it’s Jughead.”

“Jughead, hey!” Daniel answered through the phone cheerfully. (He was always cheerful.)

“I hate to ask this, but I just put Cynthia to bed and I was going to try to bring Betty some dinner at the Register. Can you, I mean would you mind-”

“Sure thing,” Daniel said with a laugh. “No problem. You have a TV, right?” 

“Beer, too.”

“Heck yeah. I’ll be over in five.” 

The phone clicked off and true to his word, the doorbell rang five minutes later.

“Daniel, seriously, thank you-”

Daniel waved him off dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. A few hours away from the kids does everyone good. Me included. Plus, Betty’s gotta eat. Polly’s baking for a birthday party this weekend anyways. I was just going to sit on the couch and watch TV, might as well do it here.”

Jughead knew it wasn’t a big deal to Daniel to drop everything to come over so that a visit to Betty could happen but it was a big deal to him, the thought that a friend was willing to do that much for him.

“I…” Jughead felt overwhelmed with gratitude in that moment. “Okay. Well, thanks. I shouldn’t be more than an hour.” 

“Take your time, honestly,” he laughed, as he flopped down on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. Jughead pulled his beanie and his jacket on and headed out the door. 

* * *

He stopped at Pop’s, which was weirdly nearly abandoned and ordered a few burgers and an extra serving of fries plus a strawberry milkshake for Betty.

“Betty working late again?” Pop Tate had said knowingly.

“Yeah,” Jughead replied sheepishly as he pulled some crumpled bills from the depths of his jacket pocket. “Bringing her some dinner.” 

“Shake’s on the house,” the owner replied.

“What? Are you sure? Why?”

“Any friend of Betty Cooper’s is a friend of mine,” he said simply.

“Thanks, Pop,” Jughead said, taking the to go bag with a smile. 

He drove his dad’s old truck down the road to Riverdale’s downtown, near the place where they’d gone on that date all those months ago actually, and parked in the empty spots, the business part of the town empty and it being late enough that even the restaurants had been closed for a little while. Riverdale was the opposite of the city that never slept. 

Jughead immediately saw how easy it would have been to break one of the windows; the full front of the building was covered in them, the golden script covering the glass on the red door and as he peeked inside, he saw Betty leaned over a desk under a solitary lamp, her shoulders slumped and rubbing at her back.

He knocked gently and pushed the door open.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” Betty said, her voice frustrated and tired, not even turning around to check who it was.

“Even for deliveries?” 

Betty whipped around and relief flooded her face. Jughead had to laugh.

“Oh my goodness, Juggie, what are you doing here?” she exclaimed, her jaw dropping comically as her eyes lit up when she saw what he was holding.

“I brought grub,” he said, holding the takeout bag up. She moved towards him, switching another light on in the process and illuminating the room a little better, sighing dramatically at the aroma of her hometown’s finest cuisine. “And I missed you.”

“My knight in shining armor,” she exhaled gratefully, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, blushing slightly at his words. He puffed up a little bit at the praise and hugged her back tightly.

“It’s all I ever wanted to be,” he laughed. 

She took the bag from his hand and dumped the contents on the big table in the middle of the room. 

“Holy crap, this is the best, thank you,” she said. “I haven’t eaten since… jeez, since breakfast.”

“Well, good thing I’m here then,” he laughed. “How’s work?

She unwrapped her burger with a glare. 

“Do we have to talk about work right now?” she asked, taking a big bite of food and moaning gluttonously. 

“No,” Jughead laughed, liking this goofy, sleep-deprived side of her, “We don’t have to talk at all if you don’t want.”

“Good.”

“But… are you okay?” he asked, suddenly concerned that she hadn’t eaten all day long.

“I’m supposed to say yes,” she said, realizing there were fries in the other bag, “but honestly all I can think about right now is food.”

He laughed and leaned back in the chair across from her, kicking his boots up onto the table and digging into his second dinner. 

He could feel her looking at him and he gave in, turning to look at her.

“Who’s with Cynthia?” she asked curiously, 

“Daniel,” Jughead said, dipping his fries in ketchup, “It look a scarily small amount of convincing to get him to come over and spend a few hours alone.”

“He deserves it,” Betty said seriously. “Juniper and Dagwood completely ruined the landscaping in the backyard the other day trying to have a mud fight.”

“He did seem pretty eager for a little bit of alone time.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” she laughed. 

Jughead nodded and looked down at his food, a thought coming into his head. 

“Pretty decent of him to step up and be there for kids he wasn’t required to raise.” 

“I don’t think he thinks about it like that,” Betty replied thoughtfully, slurping on her shake. “It’s just who he is. They call him dad and they don’t know any different, either.”

“That came out wrong, I didn’t mean it to sound like-”

“It’s fine, Jug,” she laughed. “I know what you meant. He’s a good guy. It’s a compliment.”

“He  _ is _ a good guy,” Jughead settled on agreeing.

“So… how have you been?” she asked, clearly getting to the point of exhaustion when her inhibitions were lower. He wondered if this was what high school Betty looked like, a little loose and a little flushed from a wine cooler at some house party.

“I’m… getting better,” he said, finding his food terribly fascinating. “I was out of town a couple weeks ago.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Back to the city. Had a meeting with the publishing house.”

“For your book? That’s exciting.”

“Yeah, kind of. There’s the publisher Christmas party in December that they’re planning and they want a sneak peak of the new book to be there so… dealing with all of that, I guess.” 

“You gonna go to the party?” she asked, the sound of her sips making it clear that she’d reached the final bit of her milkshake. (Finished that before she finished her burger, he noticed. Sweet tooth.) 

“Haven’t decided yet. Might be nice to take Cynthia back for a weekend but then again… it’s an adult party if you know what I mean,” he chuckled. 

“Yeah,” Betty giggled. “I know what you mean.”

There were a few moments of awkward silence, moments that Jughead could tell Betty was waiting for him to fill. 

“And I uh… I went to Ashley’s grave, too.”

If Betty was shocked or horrified she didn’t show it. She just looked at him, eyes honest and searching.

“How was that?” she asked softly.

“I hadn’t been since her funeral. It was rough but… good. Bittersweet, I guess.”

“Sounds like it was something you needed to do,” she added thoughtfully. 

“It was,” he said, and the moment he admitted it, he felt like telling her everything. “My therapist or my psychologist or whatever you want to call them said that I probably didn’t really deal with a lot of the shit from my past. Parents and Ashley and all that. And I’ve been working really hard on…”

She didn’t say anything but reached over and gripped his hand comfortingly. 

“Working on it, I guess,” he finished lamely.

She smiled encouragingly and he continued to talk. 

“I’m sorry I dump all this on you all the time,” he admitted, “I told myself I wasn’t going to do this to you.”

“A welcome distraction. Especially if you come with food,” she chuckled, her eyes still searching his face for signs that he was lying about how fine he was.  

“I’m okay, Betts,” he said in what he hoped was an assuring tone. 

“How did you know what I was thinking?” she said with a small smile as she ran the tip of her finger along his knuckles.

“I know you,” he said simply. 

She squeezed his hand one last time and picked up her burger, the serious tone in the room dissipating. 

“How is Pop’s so good?” she asked. “Seriously, it should be illegal.” 

“I think you’re getting delirious, Betts.” 

“Nope, this is just a Betty Cooper you’ve never seen before, Jughead Jones,” she teased, shaking her cup in an attempt to get one more sip. 

“Well like all other sides of you I’ve seen, I’m sure I’ll like this one too,” he laughed.

She looked at him through thick eyelashes, mischief in her expression as she managed to take another sip of her shake. 

A knock on the door startled him so hard that he jumped. He turned and glared at the door. 

“Hey, Betty,” a man said with a small wave as he peeked around the door. 

“Trev, hi!” Betty said with clear surprise, swallowing quickly.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Trev, Jughead assumed his name to be, said unsurely. 

“Oh no, uh, it's okay. We're just, uh, working on-” Betty stuttered.

“Dinner,” Jughead interjected.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure we're still on for tomorrow?” Trev replied, his face full of hope.

“Absolutely, it's a date,” she replied cheerfully, then shook her head like she hadn’t meant to say it, a goofy look coming over her face and then disbelief at what she’d said. “I mean, it’s not a - I'll… I'll see you there.”

“Okay, cool. I'll see you there,” Trev laughed, walking back out the door with a wave. 

“Bye,” Betty waved.

There was an awkward silence between him and Betty as he took another bite of his burger, an unwarranted jealousy rearing its head heavily in his chest, burning a fire in his stomach. 

“So… a date?” Jughead started. 

Betty’s eyes flicked up to his with an eye roll.

“It’s not a  _ date _ date.” Betty insisted, her voice almost fooling him. She was too nonchalant.

“You just called it a date. You  _ literally _ said, ‘it's a date.’”

He could hear the resentful tone seeping into his voice but couldn’t find it in himself to dial it back at all. 

“That's just a cover,” she said when she saw the look on his face. 

“Uh huh,” he said disbelievingly. 

“Really, it's an intelligence gathering mission,” she said, her voice more serious now.

“An intelligence gathering mission?” he said, his eyebrows going up high he must look like a cartoon character.

“There’s been some shady things going on in the local government elections coming up and I think Trev might have an in on it,” she said with a shrug, “He might know things he doesn’t know he knows.” 

“Uh huh,” Jughead said, looking down on the burger and taking a vicious bite of it.

He looked up to find Betty staring at him. 

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he said softly.

“What?” She looked shocked, emotion passing over her face quickly.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he repeated. 

“Are you mad?” she asked, her voice suddenly vulnerable.

“Are you lying?” he fired back.

She sighed and his heart broke. He inhaled and counted to ten.

“No,” he said, picking at his fries, “I’m not mad.”

He looked up at her and found her looking at him curiously.

“You sound a  _ little _ mad,” she replied. 

“What right do I have to be mad?” he asked seriously. 

“I didn’t ask if you had a right to be mad. I asked if you  _ are _ mad,” she pointed out.

“Betts… I’m not mad,” he said seriously. “I’m just… I’m not mad. You can date whoever you want.”

The serious tension was back again.

“Is it- is it actually a date?” he asked, tearing a fry in half and drowning it in sauce.

“It’s not a date… I wouldn’t lie to you, Jug,” she said, her voice small. 

There was another moment of silence that Jughead tried to desperately not to fill.

“I hope you don’t think I’d lie to you,” she finally said. 

“Betty…” he sighed deeply, putting his head in his hands, gripping his hair with his fingers. 

“Please tell me you don’t think that,” she said in a voice that made his eyes snap up to hers instantly. “I hate the idea that you think I’d lie to you or want to hurt you or-” 

He could see the tears shining in her eyes and the thought that he had caused them made him want to jump off a bridge or run away or think of literally anything else. He had made an assumption and Betty’s tone sounded dangerously close to tears and he wanted to push it down and act like it didn’t happen but he hadn’t put in all these months of work to stop at that.

“No, fuck, Betty, that was my fault,” he insisted, walking to her side of the table and squatting in front of her.  “I… I’m so sorry. I don’t think you’d lie to me. I got stupid and jealous.”

“It’s… it’s okay,” she said gently, her eyes softening instantly. “I think I’m really sleep deprived and a little sensitive.”

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t a jerk,” he replied quickly, looking through her eyes 

She nodded and gave him a watery smile, then laughed to herself. 

“You got… jealous?” she said with a chuckle, wiping under her eye with her middle finger. 

“Yes,” he admitted with a chuckle of his own and then took a deep breath like air would fill him with courage and he let his emotions fly out of his mouth without thought. “I’m sorry if you’ve felt like you had to… wait around for me. Or like I expected you to do that.” 

She was looking at him affectionately and softly and when she spoke her voice matched the look in her eye. 

“I know, Jughead,” she said gently, her finger tucking a curl behind his ear with the most tender motion he’d ever witnessed. “I know you wouldn’t do that.” 

He gave her a questioning look in response. 

“If we’re going to be… friends,” she said, her voice slightly playful on the last word, “I want to know who you are. All of it. And I believe you. I know you aren’t… doing this or making me wait or whatever because you’re mean. Just stop worrying about that okay? I know you care. People don’t do this-” she gestured to the table of food in front of her “- for people they don’t care about.”  

“What if… what if you don’t know me though?” A fleeting wash of fear pulsed through his veins before she gently rubbed his earlobe with the pad of her finger. 

“You know me pretty well, don’t you?” she asked. 

He felt like he did. The way she wore her hair, her favorite colors, where she went grocery shopping and what kind of bread she ate. Her schedule, the things that made her angry. Her family drama. The way that her expression changed when she went from anxious to comforted and vice versa. The exact color of her eyes in sunlight and in candlelight and when it was cloudy outside. 

All of it. 

“I… I think so,” he answered. 

“Feeling’s mutual. Stop being so hard on yourself,” she said, squeezing his hand that had somehow made its way into her lap. “I’m your friend and that’s not changing anytime soon.” 

He took a deep breath.

“Even if your not  _ date _ date with Trev goes  _ super _ well?” he teased, a clear hint of gravity in his voice.

“I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you,” she laughed, picking up another fry.

“You wouldn’t?”

“I already have someone else in mind, you know,” she said, brushing some of his hair off his forehead.

He grinned.

* * *

“I’ve decided I’m coming for Christmas,” was the first thing Arch said through the phone on November 12th.

“Here? To Riverdale?” Jughead said, shocked.

“Well, Ronnie’s going to Barbados or Monaco or something and-”

“You do realize those are two  _ completely  _ different places, right?” Jughead laughed.

“Yeah, whatever, but she’s going and I think four months of dating is a little earlier to start crashing the Lodge family vacations so I’m driving up to see you.” 

“Okay…”

“That’s okay, right?” Archie laughed.

“Oh shit, yeah, duh,” Jughead chuckled. “Obviously.” 

That was all the conversation it took for Archie and Jughead to decide they were spending the holidays together. 

* * *

The interaction with  _ Trev  _ (the name left a bad taste in his mouth) brought Jughead whirling back to the days when being a jealous lover was something he was good at.

Very good at. 

He had read once that every cell in the body is replaced every seven years. He did some research and came to the conclusion that whatever romantic idiot spread that “fact” around was full of shit, but it didn’t stop him from getting why people wanted to believe it. He wondered if there was some sort of emotive truth to it, that time recreated you into a new person and left your old being behind to dissolve out of reality and into memory. He was anecdotal proof; looking back at himself from years past felt like another lifetime. His wants were different, his needs, his desires, his actions.

He knew it was bad to compare the two relationships, if what he had with Betty now even counted as a relationship, although he had a sneaking suspicion that it went a lot deeper than he even knew at this point. It was nearly impossible to compare them anyways, the differences in them so apparent that it seemed almost comical.

Ashley, long dark hair and leather. The mother of his baby girl. A mirror image of the way that he was at that age. Bitter and resentful, content to stick it to the man in anyway he could. Manic love. Mania. Obsessive love, intense to a fault. Highs and lows. Jealous lovers. Screaming matches and tears and broken glasses against the wall. He was possessive, angry if someone spoke three words to her together. She’d cuss a girl out for so much as looking at him for too long. The two of them were an angry pair, his alcoholic dad and her abusive ex-boyfriend making an amalgam of all the ways that the world had fucked them over. Their darknesses matched in the same way that you can force two puzzle pieces together, not quite fitting perfectly but going together pretty well. Misery loves company and they found it in each other. 

Then there was Betty. Perky and bright, pastel pink and baby blues, full of smiles and caring without expecting anything in return. They were friends first, companions throughout day to day things like grocery shopping and the school run. She was appreciative and emotionally intelligent and was upfront with him, no games and gimmicks. He was more honest when he was with her, more nervous and more thoughtful and he wanted to do better, to be a better father and a better friend and a better son and whatever other roles he took on in the near future. Deep in her bones she cared for him and he cared for her more with each passing minute. Each time they shared fries from Pop’s and each time he saw her with Cynthia and every time she smiled. 

He was different now. He had grown up, stopped putting himself in dangerous situations just to see if he could survive.

It hurt his heart to not know whether or not he and Ashley would’ve grown in the same direction. Would she have matured like he had? Parenthood tended to do that to people. Would she have let go of the anger deep inside of her like he would’ve? She was it for him back then, back what felt like light years ago. 

In a book that he’d read one time, they’d talked about the different types of love and thinking of it now, he couldn’t help but wonder if there were different types of soulmates, too. There was unconditional love, pragmatic love. Conquestional attraction that looked at lovers like they were trophies to be had or competitions to be won. 

Ashley, who’d brought him out of a self destructive path of gang violence and anger and into fatherhood, a place that felt like home. She’d made him feel like he wasn’t alone, like he could take on the world as long as he kept chugging along. Mania. 

Betty, maybe a different type of soulmate. A connection deeper than he’d experienced maybe. Less manic and panic and fanaticism but sweeter, slower, deeper in some ways. The kind of love that got better with age, that grew deeper with each road bump. The kind of love and love story that you’d be proud to tell your kids someday. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking by this story!! I'm so grateful for each comment and kudos and it means more to me than you know! Stay tuned for the next update - any ideas on what's going to happen?? x
> 
> tumblr: quirksandcaffeine


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt SO inspired by this story for a few months... and then it just fizzled. But we're back. Apologies for the short chapter - I promise the next one will be a long one ;)

He did show up for Thanksgiving at Polly’s after all, putting Cindy in one of the better dresses in the closet, something that Ashley’s mom had sent a few months ago. She floated around in the little light pink dress with sleeves. He was thankful that he found a pair of white tights to go with the shoes Cynthia had picked out at the beginning of the school year; they looked a little worse for wear but they’d work.

“Daddy?” Cynthia called as he packed the bag with a change of her pajamas, the bottle of wine and some appetizer he’d seen and picked up at the grocery store.

“Yeah, Cynds?” he replied, shoving another jacket into the tote.  It was shocking how quickly things like this became reality when he became a parent; nothing made him feel more like a dad than packing a tote for an outing.

“You look very nice,” she said from behind him.

He turned to look at her, a smile on his face.

“Hey, c’mere,” he said, sitting on the couch as she walked towards him. “Thank you.”

She climbed into his lap and took his ears in her hand.

“You like those?” he laughed.

“Ears are weird,” she said with a giggle.

“They are,” he agreed.

"Daddy?" she repeated.

"Yeah, Cynds?" he laughed. 

“Do you like Betty?” she asked, her eyes looked up at him, ears still grasped between her little fingers.

“Do I… like Betty?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she said.

He didn’t want to lie to her, but this wasn’t exactly territory that he'd been in before. He hadn't read up on this or done any research and the moment had come much sooner than he'd thought, the time that he had to tell his daughter about someone else. How do you tell your kindergartener that you almost kissed a woman that she sees all the time?

_You don’t,_ he realized.

“Well of course I like her," he replied. "She’s my friend.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“My… my girlfriend?” He tried to think of where this was coming from.

"My friend told me about boyfriend and girlfriends," she said, matter-of-factly.

“Uh, no she’s not my girlfriend," he laughed, the conversation feeling more and more bizarre as it went on. 

“Do you want her to be?”

“Is this 20 questions?”

“Yes,” she said victoriously, bouncing a little bit with excitement.

“That’s not how you play it, Cindy,” he laughed.

“So?” she said confusedly.

“Let’s go, silly girl,” he laughed, picking her and the bag up and heading for the door to walk down the street to Polly’s.

* * *

They got to the house and the door that was starting to feel like a second home and an enthusiastic Betty opened the door and his breath suddenly disappeared from his lungs.

She was wearing a light pink dress, knee length and covered in lace, her hair curled like some Old Hollywood starlet, flushed cheeks and wine-stained lips to match. She looked like every sense of the word angel.

“Hi,” she said brightly to Cynthia.

“We match!” Cynthia said, looking up at Betty. Betty squatted down in front of her and put her hands on the little girl’s shoulders.

“You look beautiful,” Betty said, the smile she reserved for the kids in her life all over her face, smoothing the hair down around Cynthia’s cheeks and dropping her tone down into a whisper. “I wouldn’t want to match with anyone else.”

“You’re beautifuller,” Cynthia said, eyes big and serious.

“Well thank you,” Betty laughed. “Why don’t you go inside?”

Cynthia took the suggestion the first time, slipping her shoes off inside the door and running towards the group of kids.

Betty turned to him looked him up and down as he had the startling realization that she was checking him out.

“It was the best I could do,” he said sheepishly.

She beamed in his direction and he felt his heart swell up three times bigger.

“You look…” He tried to talk but the words got caught in his throat.

She took his hand in hers and squeezed, smiling radiantly and shyly at the same time. “Thanks, Juggie. You can come in too, you know.”

He blushed, feeling like he was sixteen again, and stepped across the threshold into the house.

“Let me get your coat,” she said, running her hands under his jacket along his shoulders, her face close to his as he shrugged the fabric down his shoulders. He felt the warmth from being close to her as her fingers ran along the seam on his shoulders.

He felt naked in front of her, as she practically undressed him in the foyer. All he can think about is her, her name on his lips again and again, running through his head like a broken record. He could feel the goosebumps erupt underneath his dress shirt and wondered if she could feel it too, the electricity running through his veins. She hung the coat up on the rack and he tried to ignore how the lace fabric skimmed her curves perfectly as she turned her back towards him.

Feeling faint, he yanked his beanie off and shoved it into the pocket of the jacket, running his fingers through the back of his hair in an attempt to smooth it down.

When he looked up again, Betty was even more flushed than when he first walked in. A sudden wave of confidence rushed over him and the urge to make her blush too overtook him. He gripped her lower back gently and pulled her side to him, bumping their shoulders and leaning in to place a soft kiss on her jaw, two inches from her ear. He could feel her breath hitch under his lips.

"Thanks for having me," he whispered.

“I’m…” Her voice changed slightly. He couldn’t tell what the difference is because she still sounded casual enough on the surface, but there was something unless underneath, something heated and waiting and wanting and desperate. She reached behind her and intertwined their fingers, squeezing slightly and leaning into their clasped hands. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” he said softly.

* * *

A served glass of red wine later, they sat around the table, a weird hodgepodge of family and friends chatting nervously and hungrily. Jughead had been introduced to Betty’s parents, who were staring daggers at each other across the room and he tried his best to ignore them.

Betty was sitting next to him on one side as Cynthia sat at the kids table with the other children. Jughead couldn’t remember a time that he felt happier, a glow at the bottom of his stomach as Betty put her hand on his shoulder and leaned around him to talk to the person on his other side. He tried to ignore the way her lips were getting slightly darker and her cheeks more flushed.

Daniel’s turkey on a silver carving tray was served to an awe glowing appreciation from the long table.

“Jughead can carve it,” Daniel said happily and soon after, Polly nodded quickly in agreement.

“No, I couldn’t,” Jughead insisted, shaking his head immediately.

“Yes, you could,” Polly laughed.

“I’ve never done it before and I wouldn’t want to mess it up and-”

“All the more reason,” Betty said with a smile, taking another small sip of red wine.

Jughead looked frantically around the room for another excuse, trying to ignore the beaded sweat as fifteen people looked at him hopefully. He stood up slowly and walked to the head of the table, taking the knife and fork in shaky hands, feeling the world swim a little bit before him.

Suddenly, Betty was next to him, whispering encouragingly in his ear.

“I can show you,” Betty said.

“I…” he tried to get out but her proximity to him had increased so startlingly that he felt his throat closing up.

“We already pulled the drumsticks off and all that so-”

He turned and looked at her, her hand over his on the carving knife and her shoulder pressed up against his and she was so close that he could smell her perfume, sweet and fruity and floral.

He took her words and tried to focus on them. Ten minutes later, he presented the carved turkey to a round of applause. 

* * *

She offered to walk them home at a reasonable time and he accepted. Threee of them pulled on their coats and Jughead tugged on his beanie and he bundled a bubbling Cynthia up in her coat buttoned all the way up to her collar and a scarf wrapped around her neck.

Cynthia rushed up in front of them the second the front door was opened, skipping towards their house down the street singing some song that she'd seen on a Charlie Brown Special that the kids had watched in the other room with large slices of pie and homemade whipping cream.

When his daughter was out of ear range, Jughead turned to Betty and spoke.

“I have a question,” he said softly.

“Shoot,” she laughed, linking her arm with his as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Do you have plans in two weekends?” he stuttered. “The eighth?”

She looked at him curiously. “I don’t think so, why?”

“That book signing thing I was talking about? In the city?”

Her eyes widened and he tried to focus on his words instead of how pretty the shade of green around her irises was.

“I was wondering,” he coughed, “if you’d like to go with me… I wanted to ask you but wasn’t sure if it’d be… weird.”

“Isn’t it kind of late for me to get a flight and-”

“I uh… already got you one,” Jughead said sheepishly, pulling his beanie further down his head.

“You _what_?” she said, stopping short, mid-step.

“I just figured… I didn’t want you to have to worry about it if you could go and if you couldn’t-”

“I… I don’t have plans,” she admitted quietly, but then he could feel the shame choke up in her. “Juggie, I don’t know if I have the money to pay you back for something like that.”

“I don’t expect you to pay me back for it,” he said seriously.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.

“It’s already paid for.” He shrugged.

“Are you serious?” she said, her voice low and her fingers gripping his arm. “Don’t kid around like this.”

“I’m not joking, Betty,” he laughed unbelievingly. “I want to… I want you to be my date.”

“Your… date?”

“Yes.” He blushed.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I only want you to say one thing: that you’ll go with me,” he said, grasping her hand and pausing on the sidewalk. She looked down at their clasped fingers and bit her bottom lip nervously.

“Juggie…” she sighed, leaning into him without meaning to.

“Please,” he begged, rubbing his thumb on hers. “It won’t be fun without you and... and with you, it’ll be the best night ever.”

“You’re cheesy,” she said with an eye roll.

He made a puppy dog face at her and she sighed in defeat.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll go. But don't make a habit of this.”

He pulled her towards him and lifted her up in a hug that swept her off of her feet.

"Jughead!" she squealed in surprise, laughing as he spun her around a little bit. "I'm serious, don't do this without checking next time."

He kissed her cheek big and sloppy and laughed.

"Consider it an early Christmas present."

Her cheeks flushed in the cold and he couldn't help but grin.

* * *

The next morning, Jughead sat at his computer and forwarded Elizabeth Cooper her flight ininerary and hotel reservation, strategically leaving out that he'd paid for them to fly first class and the price that he'd paid for the rooms. 

He had felt weird, getting them two rooms, but he knew he'd feel even weirder just getting the one for them to share. The idea of having Betty in her pajamas or whatever else she wore, sleeping in one bed while he slept in another while in the same room was too much for his brain to handle. He'd settled on two rooms with an adjoining door; it wasn't too private that it would be alienating but it also gave her enough space, should she want it.

He was excited, he realized with a start. A genuine, bubbling excitement at the pit of his stomach was brewing. He tried to think of what to wear, and while it was only a 48 hour trip and it was an office/launch party he'd attended a thousand times over, he was still excited. It was no secret and he felt no shame in admitting that it was all because of Betty that he was so excited. 

He hadn't taken a vacation in nearly five years. He hadn't even been away from Cynthia for more than 12 hours before. 

But if there was any time, it was the present. He felt good, excited with jitters that were all together overwhelming and happy. 

He thought of Betty, the way that her cheeks flushed when she looked at him. How her hair blew in the breeze and how her eyes lit up when she talk about something he loved.

He was going to make a move. The city at Christmas time, glowing and sparkling with lights on all the trees, everyone flustered with the buzz of holiday shopping and silver bells jingling on every street corner. He secretly hoped it snowed just a little bit, maybe not even enough to stick overnight, but just enough that the trees got frosted and he could see Betty with snowflakes stuck in her and melting on her cheeks.

It was going to be a good weekend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr is quirksandcaffeine if anyone wants to holla at me.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jughead gave Betty the window seat so that he could be next to the aisle, and maybe a little bit more because he could tell that she wanted it but was too nice to ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Christmas in July! Welcome to the universe where all things go… full steam ahead! Buckle up, pals. Get ready for some sexual tension and mutual pining. The end is near... but I tagged this a slow burn for a reason ;)

Life used to pass slow like honey through a sieve, each time dragging on in an abysmal passage of misery. It felt funny to put those words to the way he felt back then, but he had. He was sure with every fiber of his being that Cynthia was the only reason he had made it through, clutching to his role as a father like a flotation device keeping his head barely above water.

Now, time passed like water, the current taking each moment away before he could process it. He grasped desperately at each moment, trying to capture the way Cynthia’s smile wrinkled the corners of her eyes on his iPhone or writing how each day felt, the progress he was making.

He packed meticulously as he helped Cindy with her homework, hand-choosing every tie and sock combination as he drilled out addition problems, pocket square and belt as he listened to her sound out some words. It was easier to pick out the suit, considering there were a whopping two to choose from in his closet.

Jughead gave Betty the window seat so that he could be next to the aisle, and maybe a little bit more because he could tell that she wanted it but was too nice to ask. 

He had a hard time saying anything close to no at this point, getting her anything he thought she wanted. Extra coffees, tickets to see a movie with her sister when she seemed stressed and mentioned that she liked Marvel movies, a gift certificate to get a manicure before their weekend trip happened after he saw her looking down at her fingernails sadly. He thought maybe the Christmas spirit has distilled itself into bone marrow and attached to every cell in his body, forcing his heart to grow three sizes and want to spoil Betty rotten.

It was a true comfort to know that she was a good person and wasn’t going to take advantage of the fact that he was practically smitten with her. He gave in instantly to her every whim, even if she never asked for any of it and blushed incessantly when he provided her with it.

In the current moment, Betty bounced excitedly in the airplane seat next to him. 

“I haven’t been on a vacation in forever,” she admitted, pulling up the visor to the look out the window at the workers putting the bags underneath the plane.

He was filled with affection for her, for the way that she lit up at simple things, for how comforting and happy she was. Even when he felt a little uneasy, her presence made the pressure lighten. His hand itched to be closer to her and he settled for resting it on the armrest between their seats. 

“Neither have I,” he confessed, chuckling with joy at her giddiness. “It’s probably been like… since Cynthia was born honestly. I’ve been away for maybe a day or two, but never four.” 

“It makes sense that you haven’t been,” she said with a shrug, “Parenthood changes everything.”

He nodded in agreement. 

“Wanna know something else?” she said conspiratorially, leaning in close enough that he can see she isn’t wearing any makeup, the lashes around her eyes blonde and faint, her cheeks still blushed.

“This is the first time I’ve ever ridden in first class,” she said softly. 

“I’ve only done it a couple of times,” he admitted with a grin. “It’s fun for special occasions when I can manage it.”

“This is a special occasion?” she asked coyly as she looked down, drawing a pattern on the back of his hand. 

“Very special occasion,” he laughed, giving into the urge finally and intertwining their fingers.

She grinned and turned back to the window. 

“How do you think Cynthia’s going to do for the weekend?” she asked thoughtfully a moment later. 

“I mean, Arch is in town and Polly and Daniel are just down the street,” he replied a little too casually. “She’ll be fine.”

“And… how do you think  _ you’re _ going to do for the weekend?” she laughed.

“I dunno,” he chuckled. “Seems to be going pretty well so far.”

“True,” she giggled, keeping their hands intertwined over the console in the center as the plane backed up and went out onto the tarmac. 

Another wave of emotion went over him and he found himself a little choked up at the idea of leaving Cynthia for the weekend, the guilt bubbling up before he could stop it or give it a second thought. He took a deep breath and focused on the feeling of Betty’s hand in his, her thumb rubbing gentle circles on his.

“You okay?” she said concernedly, looking at him with worried eyes. He smiled reassuringly and dropped his head onto her shoulder.

“I’m really glad you could come with me, Betty,” he said suddenly, looking up at her, double-chin and all at the angle and loving the view nonetheless. 

“I’m really glad I could come too,” she chuckled.

The plane took off and while Jughead sat up, he didn’t let go of her hand, even when they shared headphones and watched the latest Star Wars movies while sipping on the complimentary champagne.

* * *

 

Jughead told Betty stories of his time in the city while took an Uber from the airport to the hotel, how his favorite deli was down this street, how one time he saw a street performer playing his favorite song on that corner right over there. 

It was nice, to talk about all of the memories he’d pushed down. Sometimes he forgot how much progress he had made until all these memories that were once too painful to dredge up were now sources of joy again, even before he added being next to Betty while he did it.

“Hi, we have a reservation under Jones?” he said, a lilt in his voice, as he and Betty rolled their suitcases up to the front desk.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Jones,” the woman responded in a voice that screamed customer service, typing into her computer. “I have it right here, two rooms on the fifteenth floor. Here’s your room key. And -- Mrs. Jones?”

“Uh, no,” Betty said with a blush. “Not married. Betty Cooper.”

“My sincere apologies, ma’am,” the woman responded with a smile that showed all of her pearly white teeth. “Here’s your room key, Ms. Cooper.”

Betty whispered in his ear as they walked to the elevators, “That was awkward.”

“Really?” he laughed, slinging his arm across her shoulders, “I barely noticed.”

* * *

 

Jughead had opted to fly them in on the Thursday before the Saturday party and stay until late Sunday, somehow convincing Betty to ask off of work so that she could do the same. It had taken a little bit of convincing but he’d promised her some surprises and he’d known that he had her the moment her eyes lit up that he had her.

He’d had a bit of a weird mental block when reserving the rooms, deciding that it was definitely too forward to get one room with two beds but getting two completely separate rooms felt like a weird wall between them. He’d settled on two rooms with an adjoining door and their own bathrooms, giving her the privacy if she wanted and the togetherness that he wanted.

When he walked into her room, she was laying on her stomach in her sweatpants on the bed, eating a popsicle from the vending machine down the hall and flipping through a magazine.

“How soon can you be ready?” Jughead asked as he leaned against the doorframe. 

“Ready for what?” she replied, sitting up in bed in curiosity. 

“We’re going out,” he said with a grin. “It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise, wow,” she mocked. “What do I need to wear?”

“Something… nice? Like a dress, I guess,” he said.

“I only brought two dresses,” she said slowly.

“Well one for tonight and one for tomorrow, that’s perfect,” he replied.

“Okay, well can I have thirty minutes?” she asked. 

“Thirty it is,” he laughed, backing up slowly as she stood up from the bed and walked towards him.

“No peeking, Jughead Jones,” she laughed, closing the door between them slowly.

He laughed and rushed to the shower.

* * *

 

Jughead let out a low whistle as Betty came out in a light lavender dress and gave a little spin. It showed off her shoulders and her legs and she looked like a goddess. 

“You look… wow,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, doing a little curtsey. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

“You ready to go? The car’s waiting downstairs.”

“Yes, let’s go,” she said, double-checking her lipstick and hair in the mirror before they walked to the elevator. 

“Jughead, you’re spending entirely too much money on this weekend,” she said as she pressed the button for the lobby. 

“No, I’m not,” he insisted.

“Fine, just let me pay for the car,” she replied.

“Sorry, it’s already paid for,” he laughed. 

“Juggie!” she said sternly, looking at him with a furrowed brow. 

“Stop it,” he said as the doors to the elevator opened. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t want to.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said seriously, “This is way more than a normal Christmas present.”

“What’s the point in being a best-selling author if you can’t spend the earnings on entertaining a beautiful woman?” ha laughed in reply, holding the hotel door open for her and pointing to the car he’d hired. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she sighed.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want me any other way,” he laughed as he slid into the town car after her.

* * *

 

He took her to a Broadway show, the one that had just come out a year ago and was notoriously hard to get tickets to. He’d pulled a few strings and gotten them semi-decent seats, absolutely relishing in every moment of Betty’s astonishment when she’d realized where they were going and how much he must have gone through to get the tickets for them. 

She’d gripped his hand as the music peaked and a character died, a few soft tears sliding down her cheek and he couldn’t help but chuckle with affection as she self-consciously wiped them away. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” she whispered, half-crying and half-laughing, sticking her tongue out at him.

He’d leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. 

Afterwards, they went to an old oak bar and she, of course, ordered a seven and seven and he settled for a manhattan, enjoying every sip as they talked about the best part of the musical, how it made them think about America and immigration and history and the part that they all had to play in how things were happening now.

She sipped through a cocktail straw and he saw the world dance in her eyes, the way she enjoyed every opportunity, the way she saw the best in him and everyone else.  

Jughead watched her as they walked through the city, the twinkling holiday lights reflecting on her face, her eyes glowing as she laughed at the crazy street performers and looked curiously into the shop fronts, pointing items that she liked. He had a fleeting thought that he needed to bring her back some time, to really enjoy all of the things, to take her to all of the places that he’d lived and breathed when he was younger. He wanted to give her all of those things, to make her privy to the memories and let her into the holes in his heart.

She looked at him thoughtfully in the cab on the way home.

“Does it hurt? Being back here?” she’d asked.

“Not so much anymore,” he said honestly, meeting her eyes and enjoying the way she blushed. “A little bit, but not as much.” 

She smiled, small and comforting in return and they went to their separate rooms.

* * *

 

She said that she just needed to wash her face and brush her teeth and then they could watch some trashy straight-to-DVD movie together on the couch in her room. 

He’d climbed into his own pajamas, a black tee shirt and blue plaid pants, and sat on the bed channel surfing.

Ten minutes passed.

Twenty minutes passed.

Thirty minutes passed.

He pressed his ear to the door. 

“Mom, no!” he heard her cry, tears evident in her voice.

He knocked softly. 

“Betty?” he called, pulling the door open and seeing a frazzled woman pacing back and forth as she held her voice just short of a shout.

“Mom, I’m not going to see him. I’m not going to -  **_fuck this_ ** !”

In a flurry of movement, she chucked the phone into the pillows and sat down on the bed, drawing her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. She clearly hadn’t gotten to washing her face yet, mascara streaked down her face as it mixed with tears. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Jughead,” she sniffed, tears streaming down her face.

“Betty, what’s wrong?” he urged, instantly coming to sit next to her even if it felt weird to take a spot next to her on the bed.

“I can’t have a normal weekend,” she cried, immediately tucking herself into his neck and wrapping her arms around him. “My fucked up family just… oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Betty?” he repeated.

“My dad… he was arrested,” she said with a huge sigh and on the last word her voice broke, small and sad underneath the anger. “Nothing is proven yet but it’s not looking good at all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked unsurely.

“Not really,” she replied into his neck. “Why is my family just made of bad people?”

“Polly’s a good person and you are too.”

“My mom wants me to forgive my dad,” she said softly.

“You’re not a bad person, Betty Cooper,” he assured, pulling her more fully into his lap. 

She cried into his shoulder and the ache in his chest was so sharp that it felt like grief. The thought that she was hurting like this made his heart shatter into a thousand little pieces. 

“Do you still want to watch a movie?” he asked, wondering if she needed a distraction. 

“Honestly, I just want to be alone right now,” she said, looking up at him with sorry eyes.

“I get it,” he said honestly, because he did. He understood the need to have a session of letting it out without worrying what another person was thinking. “I’ll leave in just one second.”

“One second?”

“I haven’t told you much about my past, have I?” he asked. 

She looked up at him curiously, the tears on her face but the sadness in her eyes faded for just a moment, and she replied, “Not a whole lot, no.”

He brought all of his courage up from the pit of his stomach and tried to focus on the fact that his story might make Betty feel a little bit better.

“My dad was in a gang… and is an alcoholic, as you know.” He coughed awkwardly and pressed on. “And for a long time, when he was in and out of jail and in and out of bingers and I thought… I thought that I was going to turn into him. I was going to be a bad dad because he was. I was going to leave my kid because he did.”

“But Juggie-”

“We aren’t carbon copies of our parents, Betty,” he said softly, wiping at the tears on the apples of her cheeks with the pad of his thumb, “You’re your own person and you’re a damn good person at that.” 

She smiled sadly and tucked her head back under his chin to hug him quickly and then pulled away, wiping under her eyes and straightening her robe. 

“I’ll leave you alone,” he said unsurely, standing up.

She stood up with him and walked him to the door.

“Thanks, Juggie,” she said, standing on her tiptoes so her face was a little bit closer to his and goosebumps erupted on his skin. “You’re… the best friend and you’re always there for me no matter what.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied quickly. 

“It’s everything,” she said, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe him and looking up at him with big green eyes. 

He thought about kissing her in that moment and she did it first, pressing a soft kiss to the blushing skin of his cheeks.

“Thanks, Juggie,” she whispered.

“Anytime,” he coughed.

* * *

 

Two hours later, close to 1 in the morning, there was a knock on the door that separated the two rooms. Jughead looked blearily at the glowing red numbers on the bedside clock, unaware of when he even fell asleep, still on top of the covers. He sat up as the door creaked open and the smallest bit of light peeked in from her room.

Betty Cooper stood in the doorway, barely visible in the light, thick hotel robe wrapped around her body and blue socks on her feet.

“Can I stay in here for a little while?” she asked meekly; she sounded tired, drained.

He nodded quickly and lifted up the blanket as she walked over and they slid under the covers at the same time. 

As she laid down beside him, he turned onto his back and made sure that he was staying on his side and not going over. His brain and his body both felt like they were going into overdrive, the thought that he was lying in bed with Betty Cooper eliminating all other thoughts from his brain. He took a few deep breaths to try to stop the ringing in his ears and when he brought himself back into the room, he could feel the bed shaking slightly from the woman next to him.

“Oh, baby, c’mere,” he whispered, pulling her towards his chest and wrapping his arms around her, any thought of anything but trying to cheer her up immediately disappearing from his brain. 

She turned to him and cuddled into his open arms, shaking slightly against him as she cried. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he assured.

“I know,” she whimpered.

“It’s okay not to be okay right now,” he said softly this time, pressing a kiss to her temple as he wrapped her in a bear hug, wishing that if he hugged her hard enough, he could absorb some of her pain. The terrycloth of the robe was that only thing that he could see and he could feel the fabric on his chin too. He hugged her tighter. 

“It’s too hard sometimes, Juggie,” she sniffled from somewhere by his chest.

“I know,” he said sadly. 

They sat like that for a while, the minutes ticking by in those glowing red numbers, Betty quietly crying in his arms in a hotel bed in the city and he was thankful that he was there, thankful that she wasn’t doing this alone even though she could if she had to, thankful that he got to be the person to see her in these moments even if he hated seeing her in this much pain.

All he wanted was for her to be okay. He wanted to be the person that was her biggest supporter through thick and thin, the way that she’d been for him. He wanted to give her everything, all of the comfort that he had and all the love that he had and every ounce of stories and memory that would help her feel better. 

“You should get some sleep,” he said as the thought popped into his brain, the memory of the feeling of being dehydrated and tired after crying making him concerned about how he felt. 

“Can I stay in here?” she asked, her eyes full of tears and he wondered how he was ever supposed to say no to her, let alone her begging to stay in his bed. The thought of them sleeping together in the same bed made him flush buy he pushed the thoughts down within half a second.

“Of course,” he said immediately. “I can sleep on the couch if you-” 

“No, stay,” she said softly, her tone taking on something other than sadness. She intertwined their fingers and his heart skipped a beat.

“Are you sure?” he asked, searching her face in the near darkness for any sign that she wanted him to go elsewhere.

She nodded shyly.

“I’ll feel better if you’re here,” she admitted softly.

“I’ll feel better if you’re next to me,” he answered back. 

She smiled fully this time and through the sliver of light, he could see her bite her lip and she kissed his cheek again, her lips pressed against his cheek felt like heaven. He rolled on his back and tried to stop the shock as she tucked herself into his side.

“Good night, Juggie,” she murmured, cuddling up to him, the sadness still in her voice.

“Night, Betts,” he whispered back, trying to close his eyes and slow his beating heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment your thoughts and guesses for what will happen next down below xx
> 
> tumblr: quirksandcaffeine


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right y'all... this is the chapter you've been waiting for.

Saturday passed slowly and enjoyably. 

Betty and Jughead went to breakfast, sipping on matching lattes with hearts poured in the foam and walking around his favorite neighborhood, popping into antique shops and bookstores. She looked longingly at some of the first editions and her ponytail swung as she explained the personal significance, how she loved Nancy Drew as a kid, how she read Romeo and Juliet her freshman year of high school and fell in love with Shakespeare.

It was all he could do not to kiss her on every street corner and drag her down a darkly lit aisle to pull her into a hug, her voice excited and passionate and showing everything he loved about her. He settled for listening to her talk, enjoying her presence. 

It was everything he wanted out of the weekend, strolling through the city underneath the winter city, reaching out to hold her hand. She gripped it happily, swinging their arms between them as he talked about where he used to hang out, his favorite diner whose place in his heart was now second to Pop’s, about that one night where he and Archie went to happy hour at 4 pm and didn’t get home until 4 am.

He could feel how everything changed, how her touch was a comfort instead of a guilt trip, how he wanted to be near her when he felt scared instead of having being close to her sending his heart into palpitations. She laughed as his stories and bumped her shoulder against his, leaning into his touch just as he leaned into hers when she ran her fingers through the back of his hair under his beanie, practically purring with contentment at the feeling of her nails on his scalp. He pressed another kiss to her cheek.

* * *

 

Back at the hotel room that night after a room service lunch and some 90s sitcoms reruns, the party was starting in a half hour and they were skirting the edge of not being on time.

“Betty!” he called as he rapped his knuckles on the door between their rooms. “We’ve got precisely three minutes before we’re running late!”

“I’m almost ready, I promise!” she called back, her voice muffled through the door. “30 seconds!”

He sighed amusedly and pulled his shirt sleeves down from under the jacket of his suit, double-checking that he had his phone in his pocket and that his room key was in his wallet. He turned around where he was standing, patting his pockets and making sure he had everything.

“Well, was I worth the wait?” he heard Betty say from behind him. He turned around to look at her.

“Holy shit.” 

The interjection was out of him before he had the chance to subdue it. 

Because holy shit was the only thing that crossed his mind as he had turned around and looked at Betty.

She was wearing a purple-y dress that hit just below her knees and heels that made him wonder how they stayed on her feet, the black straps so minimal. He tried not to focus on the way that the v-neck on her dress came down to a level he’d never seen before and snapped his eyes up to her face.

Her eyes, looking at him with attraction and it was clear that she anxious to know what he thought, whether she was well dressed enough. She’d done something with her makeup and while he was normally innately attracted to her natural beauty, tonight was a different story: she had transformed from the girl-next-door into a certified sex kitten and he tried for the millionth time to keep his mind out of the gutter.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said, thinking slightly harder about what he wanted to say before opening his mouth this time.

She blushed and walked over to him and her shoes made her lips that much closer to his as she approached him.

“Well you look devilishly handsome… and I’m not just saying that,” she said teasingly, straightening his tie and looking up at him with mischief in her eyes. 

They took another hired car to the party, hired by his publishing house this time. It was a short ride, only a few blocks and he’d debated turning the offer down but wasn’t sure whether Betty would want to walk. Hindsight was 20/20 and he was glad he didn’t make her stroll down the street on the towering stilettos that did a lot for her legs but were probably killing her feet.

“I’ve never seen your hair like this,” he said absentmindedly in the back seat of the town car, rubbing a thumb along the bare skin on her neck as they rode over the few blocks.

“Yeah, usually I wear it down for special occasions but… does it look okay?” she asked quietly as she smoothed the back self-consciously. 

“It looks amazing,” he laughed. “You did a great job.”

“Thanks,” she said with a grin, glowing at his words. He could feel the muscles in her shoulders relax under his hands. 

They pulled up to the venue, or rather the lobby of the venue, and he tried to ignore the nerves fluttering at the bottom of his stomach as they took yet another elevator and he saw the welcome sign. The nerves he had were mainly the good kind of nerves, the kind of anticipation before an exciting time, but even so, these types of events never felt natural to him. He’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks; glittering cocktail parties weren’t exactly a trailer park staple. 

Betty hooked his arm into his as they walked into the event, past a sign that said his name on it that he tried to steer her away from.

“A drink?” he asked as he surveyed the room.

“God, yes,” she laughed nervously. 

He plucked two glasses off of a tray from a passing waiter and handed her one with a flourish.

“Thanks,” she said absent-mindedly, taking in the lay of the land.

The space that the publishing house had rented was true city glamour, tall windows and even taller ceilings with a sparkling view of the skyline and some of the city’s biggest buildings. The huge outdoor patio was covered in space heaters - although the weather was holding up quite nicely - and candlelight, every corner of the area glowing softly. A champagne tower sat on the huge gold table to Jughead’s right, appetizers were in every person’s hand and every direction that Jughead looked, there were more massive flower arrangements, towering over the cocktail tables and glittering against the mirrors that they laid on.

It was hard not to feel good at an event like this on a night like this, a beautiful woman on his arm, the slight buzz of champagne starting to run through his system, and the feeling of a velvet chair underneath him at a rooftop bar in the city.

She sat on the arm of his chair and crossed her legs, leaning against him slightly and people-watching for a moment. She looked good enough to eat, his face right around the neckline of her dress, and his thoughts wandered to pulling her into a dark corner of the party and defiling her, of taking off those extortionately sexy heels and kissing up her perfect legs until-

“I thought that this was supposed to be a little bit of a book promotion?” she asked. “Are you going to be giving a speech?”

He spluttered slightly and coughed a little bit at the sudden pull from his thoughts of dark alleys and Betty’s legs. 

“Nah,” he replied, taking a gulp of his drink in an attempt to clear his throat, “I insisted on it being the complete opposite. Part of FP Jones III’s persona, his very aesthetic, is being dark and mysterious. I can’t start with the expectation that I’ll give speeches at parties. Plebeian nonsense, really.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, nodding facetiously. “ _ Very _ strategic of you.”

“I saw something inside with my face and the supposed cover design for the book, but I avoided it in its entirety and steered you away too.”

“Are you trying to keep secrets from me, Forsythe?” she teased. 

“Never,” he said, mock-seriously, placing his elbow in her lap and she wiggled closer to him.. 

Something about being in the city was buzzing alive inside of him. Tonight, he wasn’t just “dad” or “dad who also happens to be a writer.” He was Forsythe Pendleton Jones III, New York Times Bestselling Author, owner of a house in Riverdale, and proud date of Betty Cooper. 

He had a double-take when he realized that even though this felt vaguely like a compartmentalizing thing he’d used as a coping mechanism a couple years back, he was genuinely enjoying every moment of this party now. He wasn’t worried about Archie and Cynthia, he wasn’t worried about whether he was checking off all of the boxes that he needed to check, saying hi to the right people and worrying whether Betty was having a good time until he felt sick.

He was just enjoying having her company and getting to check her out all night and the way her cheeks were just slightly more flushed after first glass of champagne and noticing how she sipped on the second for a lot longer than the first.

She sparkled in all the conversation that inevitably came up, talking about the Register and Riverdale and throwing in some stories about Cynthia that got “oo’s and ah’s” around each circle. She even ignored all of the questions about whether or not they were a couple, skipping over them with a charm that he had never possessed, a effortless charisma that made him attracted to her all the more.

When a group of giggling women - publicists, someone had said - had insisted that Betty was a very lucky woman, she grabbed his hand and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Yes,” she said, her voice dripping in saccharine sweetness, “I am.”

He’d laughed as the women left, slightly turned on at Betty’s show of possessiveness and kissing her cheek back, enjoying the surprised blush that came up her cheeks as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

She leaned against him on the dancefloor of the party, the light from the discoball flickering against her face and on the apples of her cheeks, leaving her eyes in slight darkness but they glowed nonetheless, different than the way that they glowed in the sunset and different than he’d ever seen them; she looked at him forwardly, courageously. 

She was the most beautiful woman at the party, in the city even, the small tendrils of hair around her face, her lips begging to be kissed, her eyes looking at him like he was probably looking at her too. He pulled her closer, an arm at her waist as they swayed on the white dancefloor, the warmth from her and the heater above them prickling at the back of his neck as soft jazz played from the corner.

Her hand was small in his and he hoped that she couldn’t feel the sweat from being this close to her. 

She looked up at him with something that he couldn’t place and when she spoke, her voice was slow and tender. 

“Thanks again for bringing me, Juggie,” she said softly. His heart swelled up. “This is… not a normal weekend for me.”

“It’s not a normal weekend for me either,” he replied, keeping his voice low to match hers. “Normal weekends for me are soccer games and Target excursions.”

“Still.” She squeezed his hand. “It feels special to be let into this part of your life.” 

“Well, you’re special to me,” he replied. 

“I am?” she asked coyly, clear that she knew it was true but wanting to hear it again.

Every moment that they’d had together flashed before his eyes and before he could stop himself, something inside of him snapped. He took her hand and dragged her past the exit door and into the stairwell. A million thoughts raced through his head but the overarching theme seemed to be that he needed to get her alone right this very second.

It was dark and humid inside the stairwell, hotter than outside even. He pressed her against the wall, closer than they’d been on the dance floor and suddenly felt like he couldn’t catch his breath.

“I…” She looked up at him and then her eyes flicked to his lip. He bit it and she looked back up to his face.

“Can I kiss you?” he begged. “Please let me kiss you.”

She grinned flirtatiously, shyly and his soul felt like it was on fire. He pressed her up against the wall further, putting his leg between one of hers and his hands on either side of her waist. The gasp that the movement elicited did nothing to help his current downstairs situation.

“I… later?” she said, biting her lip, wrapping her arms around his neck and looking up at him with a look that made him very confused; her words and her actions didn’t match. She didn’t want to kiss him right now but she was moving closer, their hips pressed against each other.

“What?” he stuttered, shocked as his stomach jumped into his throat. 

“You understand, don’t you?” she asked coyly, her voice lowering down a bit, rubbing a flat palm along the lapel of his jacket.

“No,” he said frankly. 

“I have a feeling that once I kiss you,” she said, leaning in and whispering next to his face, her breath hot against his ear, “I won’t ever be able to stop.” 

His throat dried and his pants tightened.

“I-”

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Jughead,” she said seriously, “But if you aren’t ready, we can always stop, okay?”

“I know,” he replied honestly.

“This doesn’t have to happen tonight,” she said and he wondered how she was doing it, thinking of his feelings in a moment like this. “I’m not going anywhere and you shouldn’t feel bad if it doesn’t feel right.” 

“I think I might understand what you said before,” he said, dropping his head against her neck, kissing the spot where her shoulder met her collarbone. “Might not be easy to stop.”

“Ah,” she breathed, biting on his earlobe.

He all but moaned and couldn’t help his body when it pressed into her a little bit more, every inch of their bodies touching, her chest pressed against his, his hands on her hips, his fingers gripping into the delicious curves there, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Holy shit, Betts,” he groaned, “you gotta stop or I’ll never make it to that point.”

“Well,” Betty started, running her hand downwards along the buttons of his shirt.

The door to the stairwell slammed open in the worst timing of his entire life.

“Jughead,” Toni Topaz, his manager, said sternly, tapping her toe against the concrete floor , “You’re up.”

“Leave me alone, Topaz,” he groaned, trying to bury himself in the soft skin of Betty’s neck. He could feel her laughing underneath him. 

“I said you didn’t have to speak, but you need to stand there while they talk about how you’re the next Truman Capote or whatever, how the Great American Novel has finally been written,” Toni snapped with both her voice and her fingers. “Let’s get a move on.” 

Jughead sighed dejectedly and dragged himself away from Betty, taking her hand and glaring at Toni. 

“I’m Toni Topaz, dear Jughead’s manager,” she said to Betty as the manager pushed her reluctant client along. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you for months now.” 

“Is that true?” Betty laughed.

“Shut up, Toni,” Jughead said grumpily, pushing his way through the crowd to the stage. 

All he could focus on while standing on the small stage inside the venue was Betty, one arm crossed over her chest to support the other elbow of the arm holding her champagne. He watched her as she watched him, their eyes meeting and he wondered if she knew that he could tell she was undressing him with her eyes, wondering what was underneath his black pants, what his shoulders looked like under his white dress shirt. 

He was wondering the same thing, what her skin would taste like right where the neckline of her dress ended. She shifted her weight from one hip to the other and his eye was drawn to the curve of her waist, the curves a little higher and a little lower. 

The speaker droned on and he should have been listening but he wasn’t and finally it was over. She held her glass up with the rest of the toasting guests, with eyes that glowed in the dark light of the event and his impatience peaked, desperate to get her alone. 

He hopped off the stage and drew close to her like a magnet finding its complement. 

“Can we go?” he asked desperately into her ear, “I’ll pull the car around.”

“We can walk,” she insisted. “The fresh air will do me some good.” 

He had acquiesced, figuring that she wouldn’t offer unless she was truly okay with it, and they took off down the street, their paces both a little quicker than normal. She was shivering and he wrapped his jacket around her shoulders, draping an arm across her shoulders on top of that, leading them to walk the few blocks.

There was an antsy anticipation between them, both Betty and Jughead ignoring the fact that they were walking back to their practically shared hotel bedroom after having a very mutual acknowledgement of their pent up frustrations and almost kissing in the stairwell.

A block away from the hotel, she started talking.

“I know I already said thank you but-”

“Betty,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t have to thank me for tonight.”

“Well I wasn’t going to,” she said shyly. “I was going to thank you for last night… or this morning, I guess. And just… everything.”

“It was nothing,” he said, feeling a self-conscious flush run up his neck.

“It wasn’t nothing,” she said, taking his hand and stopping them in the middle of the sidewalk in front of a random bodega. A group of people walked around them and she waited until they’ve moved a few feet away before she turned back to him. 

“You’re… one of my best friends, Juggie,” she said seriously. 

“You’re mine too,” he replied quickly.

“And that’s because you’re thoughtful and smart and caring,” she said, taking a baby step forward.

“I’m not-”

“Let me talk, Jughead,” she said gently, placing a hand on his cheek and looking up at him with affection.

They stood, almost midnight in the city with the beginnings of a storm brewing in the sky above them, his right hand in her left, his jacket entirely too long for her frame. Her eyes were shining and not from the “open” sign of the store behind them but because of the smallest tears in her eyes. He wanted to kiss them away but instead he nodded and she continued. 

“You came to Riverdale and I didn’t realize that I needed someone like you,” she said softly, looking up like she was trying to grasp for the perfect words. “You’re… a writer. Like me and you edit my writing when I need you to just because that’s who you are. And you’re observant, like you know what I’m going to say even before I’m going to say it. And you’re respectful,  like you just want me to be happy.” 

He didn’t reply but squeezed her hand slightly. 

“You’ve done… things for me that no one should expect and that I certainly don’t deserve,” she said, clearing her throat slightly. “And… you’re always there for me, making sure I’m taking care of myself, always there to remind me that I’m…” her voice cracked. “A good person. And I think part of it is because of you. I haven’t been this happy in a long time.” 

He felt the prickle of something at the back of his throat and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up slightly in a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he heard her sniffle next to his ear. He hugged her tighter until he wanted to see her face again and he dropped her gently back down to the ground, taking the back of her head in his hand and pulling it towards him to press a kiss against her temple. 

“I do want to make you happy,” he said, his throat tight. “I don’t deserve you, Betty Cooper.” 

“You deserve a  _ lot _ better than me, Jughead Jones,” she said seriously, pulling back to meet his gaze.

He wanted to say a million things and in a million ways, how the feelings that he’d had for her grew from something surface to something deep and moving and scary in a good way, how she made him happy to be alive and how every inch of him felt like it was humming with an energy that he’d forgotten he had deep inside of him. .

He was finally ready, he thought with a startling realization. Going back to the city to see Ashley, finishing his book, making a home with Cynthia and trying his hardest to be the best dad for her. Therapy and dealing with the guilt that had plagued him. It had healed the deepest scars on him. It had all culminated in tonight, taking on both the role of a dad who not only loved but trusted, a writer who not only wrote but socialized and planned, of a man who’d not only lost but loved and loved and continued to feel love. 

He wanted to give her everything and he got choked up at the thought of it, of being the one to please her and make her happy. He couldn’t find the words to have it make sense to her. How she was comfort and excitement after years of feeling nothing but grief and guilt. How she made his heart race when she entered the room, how she had showed up in all of his sexy dreams for the last two weeks. How he felt like he had been waiting for her for years, how she had changed him into a better version of himself that he didn’t know was possible. 

The fear was gone. He looked down at her and saw her looking back at him curiously, knowing that he’d been looking at her for a few moments past awkward silence. The guilt that used to bubble up into his throat at the thought of kissing her, like he was betraying the memories and people of the past and betraying his daughter in the present, wasn’t there anymore. He knew she could do better and yet he had come back to a place where he realized he deserved to be happy… and nothing was going to make him happier than kissing Betty Cooper. 

“I don’t know how to say what I want to say,” he started slowly.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” she said shyly.

“I want to…” his words trailed off. 

She nodded understandingly with a shy smile. 

“How do you always get it?” he asked rhetorically with a laugh. 

She took his hand again and lead them down the street.

They walked back in silence, rode the elevator in silence, and said nothing as Jughead slid his hotel room key to open the door on his side of the room. 

She turned on the desk lamp, the small amount of light making everything visible as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. She took off his jacket and hung it up in the closet, placing it gently back on the rack and smoothing the shoulders down.

“Should I… go to my room?” she asked shyly as she took a couple unsure steps towards him, teetering back and forth between each foot. 

“I don’t think I’m quite tired yet,” he replied, biting his lip, taking a step towards her too. 

She looked up at him and took one baby step forward. His heart beat wildly in his chest and they looked at each other with understanding and something deeper. He felt the sparks between them, the comfort there, the understanding of who the other person was and acceptance of each other.

The moment felt like being on the edge of of a cliff, the instant before he took the plunge when nerves pulsed through his fingers, itching for action, the blood pounding in his ears. But it wasn’t the fear like before, when something in the back of his head told him that the timing wasn’t right, that he didn’t deserve this. 

It was nervous anticipation, that seconds before the top of a roller coaster, before the kickoff of a big game, before pressing “send” on a draft of his book. 

“What?” she asked softly, her eyes starting to fill with worry.

He looked down at her lips, then back up at her eyes and slid a hand along her neck and onto her cheek.

He could feel everything she was feeling, the anticipation, the excitement, the buildup to this moment. Her hands snaked up to grab his lapels and pulled him slightly to her.

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips and fireworks exploded in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH!!! What did you think? I'd love to hear your thoughts... also in case you're curious, the next chapter picks up a moment after this one ends.


	17. Chapter 17

“Wow,” he breathed, pulling away from the kiss, their lips nearly touching still, a heat traveling down from his mouth along his spine and his brain clouding with the implications.

“No kidding,” she said softly, running her tongue along her bottom lip absentmindedly.

It took away his breath for a moment. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her into oblivion but instead he took the tiniest of steps back, missing her being close to him for even a second.

“Can we… talk?” he asked unsurely, every cell in his body screaming their protests.

She nodded with a chuckle and smiled shyly, as if everything he did amused her.

He took her hands in his and sat her down on the edge of the bed, pacing back and forth in front of her on the carpet of the room.

“I want to… talk. I want to tell you everything,” he said unsurely, running his hand through his hair and trying to ignore the tingle on his lips from where they were touching hers moments ago.

“You don’t have to do this, Jug-”

“I didn’t say I had to, I said I wanted to.”

“Okay,” she nodded, raising her eyebrows like she got it, crossing her legs in front of her and giving him her full attention.

There was a moment when he wanted to bury his head in the sand and pretend this didn’t have to happen. But it did have to happen and deep down he knew it. It was the culmination of years of pent up anger and frustration and grief and sadness and in this moment, seeing a waiting Betty Cooper sitting on his bed, patiently anticipating his words, it all came to a head.

He had to tell her how he felt.

“I’m…” His voice broke.

“Juggie,” she said softly, immediately reaching out for his hand, raising herself up onto her knees to pull him closer. Her touch calmed the errant beating of his heart in his chest and like a magnet he moved to her. He took her hand gratefully and leaned into her as she rested her head on his chest.

“I… I can’t believe I made you wait this long,” he whispered with a dark chuckle, tears prickling the back of his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Betty said softly and surely, looking up at him with a thickness in her voice and her hand in his hair, stroking the sides down with tenderness that made his heart hurt. “Really, it’s okay.”

“You deserve to be with a lot better than me,” he replied shortly, pushing the words out before they choked him, the pressure at the back of his throat strangling his voice.

She took his face in her hands and talked to him sternly.

“I don’t,” she replied.

“You do and-”

“You are a… _fantastic_ dad, Jughead Jones,” she interrupted, “And an amazing friend and a great coffee date partner and a million other things, too.”

“No, I-” he interjected.

“Let me talk,” she said, her voice even sterner, “You are doing so well. You’ve done so well and you’re not giving yourself enough credit and, and you know what? You deserve to be happy _._ ”

Her hand ran through the hairs at the back of his neck now and he took a deep shaky breath.

“I don’t know about that but it’s nic

“Do I make you happy, Jughead?” she asked unsurely, the confidence wavering from her voice for a moment.

“The happiest,” he said immediately.

“Well then…” She cleared her throat slightly. “You deserve… me.”

She took both of his hands in her own when she said the last word softly and his heart burned and twisted self-deprecatingly in his chest.

“Why are you so nice?” he laughed, dark and sardonic and full of tears, looking up to meet her gaze. “You’re so good to me, to your family… to Cynthia. You’re so good to everyone you meet. You’re just like… good at your core. Hair of gold, heart of gold or whatever that stupid cliche is.”

“Juggie,” she breathed.

“I’m not normal. I’m not wired to be normal,” he panted, out of breath from the pressure in his chest, desperate to get the weight of all of these feelings off of his shoulders but expressing it felt like a marathon, his eyes still wet with tears. “I still have so much work to do and if you start this with me you’re going to have to deal with that and-”

“You’re not a project, Jughead. You’re…” She smiled instead of finishing the sentence.

She was breathless and weightless against him, her hands in his hair and he sank against her. She looked at him like she lost the words.

“I have baggage. I’m from the wrong side of the tracks and I have a kid and my girlfriend died and--”

“I don’t care,” she whimpered, pressing herself closer to him desperately,

“I’m-”

“I’m with you.” She looked at him like he was everything in that moment and his heart soared in his chest. He wanted to be everything for her, he wanted to be everything that she saw in him and more. He was so overwhelmed he felt like crying and her next words broke any chance of resolve he had for holding back. “I’m not giving up on you, Jug.”

He could see her lashes, darkened with makeup and the sparkle in her green eyes and their amber flecks and all he wanted to do was lay her back and tell her how radiant she was, over and over and over, to repeat until his voice was raw from telling her how her light chased away his darkness.

Her voice was honey sweet and he couldn’t help but feel like there was something deep in her heart that he had been missing, the puzzle piece separated from the rest that finally came back to its home.

Their lips touched and it was great but all it did was make it even harder for him to focus, harder for him to think about anything but being inside of her, of his fingers deep in her hair, of his hand gripping her waist, of the little sounds that she was making even as he did something as simple as kissing her gently. It felt like a dam bursting after years of being pressed closed, every one of those feelings he didn’t let himself feel flooding over him like a rush of unstoppable force.

He pulled away and forced himself to breathe, to digest the moment.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered against her lips, so close still that he could feel her breathe.

She pulled away just slightly, her face hazy and blurry, and nodded.

“I’ve wanted to that since the first time we got coffee.”

“Juggie,” she sighed like his name was sleepytime tea on her lips, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He was overwhelmed by the scent of her, something vanilla that she sprayed on before the party, warm and comforting against the skin of her neck.

“I wanted to kiss you the first time I saw you and I’m sorry it took so damn long and I can’t stop thinking about you and I feel if I don’t kiss you right this moment I’m going to die,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her ear, then lower, her earlobe, the place where her jaw wrapped around her neck.

“It’s okay, Jughead, I know,” she replied breathily.

She was as turned on as he was, he realized. Everything in him, in them was buzzing, everything in her was buzzing and it felt right in a way he’d never felt before. It was like things had shifted and slid into the knotch it was made for. He _knew_ it was right. He knew this was right, every bone in his body was telling him that this was the right place, the right person, the right moment.

“I want to make you happy, Betty,” he said softly. She leaned into his hand on her cheek, his thumb running along her cheekbone.

“You do make me happy, Juggie,” she said, her eyes full of something that he couldn’t place. Affection, he thought. Maybe something deeper.

“I… Riverdale changed me,” he said softly, and he thought that it was a good thing he didn’t make a habit of lying, because he was sure he was wearing every emotion in his body on his face right now. “I feel like I can breathe again. You - you’ve changed everything…”

“What is it?” she prompted.

“I can’t promise this is going to be easy, Betts,” he said, tucking a soft curl behind her ear as she wiped a tear from under his eye. They mirrored each other; when he moved closer, she did too. A constant ebb and flow.

“I don’t care,” she said surely.

“It’s-”

“How many times do I need to say it, Juggie?” she said, leaning into him and whispering against his skin, kissing his neck with each word. “I. Don’t. Care.”

After months of these moments, when he thought about the feeling of the skin that lies underneath her pastel pink sweaters, when her hand brushed against his and he wanted to wrap their fingers together and not let go until he was inside of her. After all those moments, the times that his breath caught in his chest at the thought of her lips, all the times that his heart beated a million times a minute in her presence. After all those moments… he felt content and calm and blissful and drunk off the way her hips were already moving against his, towards him, slightly without her realizing it.

He was so ready for this. She leaned into him and words snuck out of his mouth before it made contact with hers.

“I’m - wait,” he said, pausing suddenly.

She sat back onto her heels on the bed and looked up at him curiously, her eyes searching his face for any sign of hesitation.

“Again?” she teased. “More to say?”

He took his hands in hers shyly and intertwined their fingers, taking a deep breath.

“I’m all in, Betty,” he said.

“What?” she breathed, rising up onto her knees again and drawing close to him.

“If we’re doing this,” he said with all the conviction he felt in his heart, “I’m all in. I want a relationship and I want to be able to take you to every single one of these stupid events and I want you to come have dinner at the house with Cindy and-”

“Juggie,” she sighed, her eyes smiling at him as she pressed her lips against his firmly.

She kissed him recklessly and he wanted to give her that back, he wanted to love on her without the thought of something going wrong. He let his body take over, rolling her underneath him on the bed and kissing down the soft skin of her neck.

“Tell me you want this,” she said, looking up at him with vulnerable green eyes, everything about her soft, her heart and her voice and her words and her skin.

“I want this so fucking bad, Betty,” he responded faster than he expected.

“Tell me it’s different now,” she whispered against his lips. “Tell me I’m not going to get a taste and then have it taken away from me.”

“It’s not, you won’t,” he gasped, feeling her breath millimeters away from his, “I took all the time so… so I wouldn’t do that to you and … you’ve changed everything.”

“Jughead Jones…” she said, her voice breathy, sultry, husky and if he wasn’t hard before, he sure was now.

“Fuck, Betty,” he groaned.

He took her hair which was still pulled away from her face and tied in the back, in his hand and tilted her head back until her neck was exposed, placing feather light kisses along the skin there. She gasped and he smiled against her, entirely enjoying this process of getting to know every inch of her skin.

“You like that?” he teased.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she breathed, looking at him with an panting, open mouth, her chest heaving and it brought his attention to where the neckline of her dress dipped.

“I’ve had you in my sights all along, Elizabeth Cooper,” he chuckled against her skin, kissing down the v-neck.

He looked up at her questioningly and she nodded, biting her lip as he slid one strap down the peak of her shoulder, exposing her entirely and she bit her lip, looking down at his mouth traveling over her collarbone and down to the spot he’d been staring all night, the place where the neck of her dress ended.

He kissed around the peak of her breast until she moved against him, trying to get more friction, muttering something about him having been a tease for too long. He grinned, loving the impatient side of her that he’d never seen before, a new facet of her personality he was being exposed to, and quickly gave into what she clearly wanted.

He sucked and bit and started on sliding the other strap down before she tugged away.

“You won’t get it fully off that way,” she said suddenly, pushing herself back onto the bed and turning onto her stomach in front of him, “It unzips at the back.”

His throat went dry and the coil at the base of his spine tightened and twisted, suffocating him in its wake. Desire was rolling over him like waves and he rolled with them, the anticipation and nerves in his stomach. Betty Cooper, presented her back to him, looking at him over her shoulder coyly and propping herself up on her elbows just slightly.

“Well, do you want it off or not?” she teased.

If nothing else, his words prompted his action and her nearly rushed to her, sliding the zipper down and the slippery fabric dropped down her shoulders as the zipper ended at the very bottom of her back, right as the curve of her ass swelled up to meet his crotch.

He couldn’t help but want to taste the skin there, to kiss down the bones on her back. She gasped at the feeling of his lips on her spine and it only spurred him on, wanting to hear that sound again, wanting to hear it endlessly from her perfect mouth, placing ghosts of kisses on the impossibly soft and smooth skin of her back.

“You can take it off, Juggie,” she breathed with a giggle.

“I don’t know if I can, honestly,” he laughed, trying to contain himself but feeling completely overwhelmed. She turned over her shoulder to look at with a half-serious glare but eventually wiggled the dress down her body until it sat around her waist. She turned over and exposed her front again and he bit his lip at the thought of her, so very exposed and entirely too sexy for her own good, so very attractive that he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

She looked at him worriedly, mistaking his action for trepidation, and spoke softly to him.

“We can slow down if you want, Juggie,” she said, coming to him slowly.

“That’s not what I want at all,” he laughed, pulling her closer and rolling her on top of him in one motion.

“Oh, God,” she moaned as he gripped her ass through her dress, the one he still hadn’t managed to take off, and kissed her like there was no tomorrow.

She grinded her hips down on top of him, the hardness in his pants impossibly uncomfortable and the way she was moving, simultaneously heavenly. He was suffocating, her delicious weight on top of him, her movements, her gasps in his ears, the feeling of her skin as he ran his hands up her legs and under her dress, slipping two fingers underneath her panties, finding out that they were lace and also that she was impossibly wet.

“Fuck,” he moaned in her skin, sliding a finger into her gently as she rocked against him, “fuck, Betty, you’re so fucking perfect.”.

“I hate that word,” she breathed.

“Don’t care, you’re fucking perfect,” he said, kissing the soft skin of her neck, the place where her collar bone dipped into her neck, the point where the bone in her shoulder rose up from her muscles, kissing, kissing, kissing. “Never rushed me, never pushed me, let me come to it all on my own.”

“Juggie,” she groaned into his neck as he drove two fingers into her center. She was so ready for him, desperate and wanting and wiggling beneath him.

He was overcome by nerves and the desire to please her, to be everything she had hoped this would be, to be what she deserved and he looked up at her for a moment, struggling for the words.

“I want to… please you,” he said unsurely, looking up at her with what he was positive was an entirely pathetic look. “It’s… will you help me?”

She looked at him with big green eyes and smiled like everything that he did was perfect, like him trying to make her happy made her happy all along.

She leaned back on the bed again and finally, finally wiggled the sexiest purple dress he’d ever seen off of her body, slowly exposing the lace panties, which he found out were black and the thought that she’d been wearing those all night made him bite his lip as he tried to control the way his blood was pumping south.

He could tell she was wet from just looking at her, nevermind the fact that his fingers had been inside of her mere moments before.

“C’mere,” she urged gently. He laid down on his side next to her and she intertwined their fingers together, running their clasped hands down between her legs.

He watched with a gaped mouth as she talked to him softly and slowly. It had to have been the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, Betty Cooper in bed in black lace panties, showing him how she liked to touch herself,

He was drowning in her, the sight of her in the desk lamp light, the way she wiggled, how her gasps sounded to his ears, like a symphony that he was conducting.

Time blurred and seconds turned to minutes as she tugged his tie off, as she unbuttoned his dress shirt, as her hands worked the hook off of his belt. He pulled his pants and boxers off in one swipe, rolling top of her on the bed and he kissed her and kissed her and moved down her stomach and kissed on her hip bones until he could taste between her legs.

When she moaned he felt stars erupt in his brain, the taste of her on his tongue and her thighs by his ears.

“Juggie,” she breathed, “not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy this, but I need you inside me. Right now.”

He chuckled and then his blood went cold at the fact that he hadn’t thought of bringing any protect.

“In the bathroom,” she breathed, her hands gripping at the sheets beside him. “Pink bag, front pocket.”

He jumped and ran as fast as he could without looking like an idiot, shuffling through the back and holding a condom up triumphantly, rolling it onto himself as he entered back into his room and climbed onto the bed, Betty still lying there with bedroom eyes and spread legs

“Are you sure?” he asked one last time, more to tease her than anything else but also needing to hear her say it. “We don’t have to-”

“Juggie,” she whined impatiently, trying to move against him, rubbing her wetness up and down his length, and he kissed her neck and lined himself up.

He pushed inside her gently, overwhelmed by every inch of her skin and every move of her body and everything that she did, her fingernails on his back and in his hair. It was heaven, the deepest connection he’d felt since he could remember, emotion overwhelming him with each action, each moment, and it wasn’t just because it had been so long. It was her and everything that she did, her gasps and moans, how she whimpered his name and how he couldn’t help but whisper hers back, her name rolling out of his mouth like it belonged there. The feeling was strengthened by how she took control and rolled them over and rode him, rolling her hips and pressing her hands into his chest. How she spread her legs when he rolled back on top of her.

He kissed her as she came, swallowing her gasps, his fingers between them, rubbing and rubbing some more as her gasps got higher and higher, begging her to cum for him and moments later he came too, pushed over the edge by the feeling of her finishing around him and her voice moaning his name.

After she threw a hotel towel in his direction with a giggle and they both cleaned up slightly, they laid down on the bed, touching at the knees, the elbows, his hand in her hair and hers in his, facing each other as their heads rested on fluffy down pillows.

“That was…” Her voice trailed off.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he laughed, pulling her into a horizontal hug.

Her makeup was smudged around her eyes and her hair was a total mess, falling down from the fancy updo she’d somehow tamed her hair into. He felt bad, knowing how much work she put into this but also couldn’t help but feel a certain satisfaction at the fact that he’d made her like this, that he’d ruined her just a little bit, that she had been his like that.

* * *

Jughead woke up the next morning and turned sleepily to his side, blinking lazily against the sun streaming in through the shutters on the window. He stretched slightly and almost jumped out of his skin when his hand ran into something solid, a something solid that groaned slightly and moved under his touch.

“Good morning,” Betty mumbled from beside him, pushing her head further into her pillow.

“Morning,” he choked out, feeling all sorts of emotions run through him.

She moved her head to look at him, turning onto her stomach and hugging the pillow to her neck.

She looked like an angel, her perfect cheekbones resting on the bed and his tee shirt (when had she put that on?) on her shoulders and her wild, wavy hair resting all over the sheets.

“Good morning,” she repeated, blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

Last night came back to him in flashes. Betty underneath him, arching her back into her touch. Her voice, repeating his name softly and reverently. Afterwards, her kisses to his forehead and how she intertwined their fingers again.

“Back to the real world today?” she said as he moved closer to her, laying an arm along her back and running his fingers up and down her side. He nodded and couldn’t help but wonder how the next few days would go, how their rose-tinted lenses would transfer to their everyday lives, if the magic and charisma of the city would wear off when they got back to Riverdale routines.

"Yeah," he said, "but I meant what I said. I'm all in."

"I know, Juggie," she said, scratching his scalp gently. 

"I just want you to know that."

"Don't worry, Juggie," she giggled, snuggling up to him. "I know."

It was hard to ignore the growing pressure in his chest but he tried his best and for now, he brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her gently, enjoying the sun coming in through the window and the beautiful woman in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait but… this was obviously a big chapter haha. Hope you enjoyed! x


	18. Chapter 18

Betty and Jughead flew back to Riverdale, exhausted and content from the weekend’s activities. He felt lighter than he had in months. Years even.

It wasn’t just the sex, although that had been great (and a little dose of nature’s Ambien never prevented anyone from feeling a bit less stressed), but it was more than that. It was more than just an orgasm and seeing a naked woman in his bed for the first time in years.

It was the way that she smiled at him, big and wide and glowing, when they picked up coffee and he knew her order without asking for it. It’s how she giggled at his stupid joke in the taxi and leaned against his shoulder on the plane ride home, squeezing his hand as he kissed the top of her head, the way she laughed with delight when she realized he had downloaded her favorite movie onto his phone to watch on the way home. 

They shared headphones and she edited an article that was due to go to print next week as he watched and gave suggestions when she asked for them. It was the way that she took his advice seriously, thoughtfully considering each edit before accepting or rejecting it. It was the way her brain worked, how theirs worked together, making her writing better with each round and how they made each other better. 

At any given moment, he had about a thousand feelings running through his chest. Content to be holding Betty’s hand and being close enough to her that he could smell her shampoo, coconut scented and intoxicating. Nervous at going back to Riverdale and normal life, of trying to keep Betty off of his mind and whether she’d integrate him into her routine, too. Anxious, at the thought that his book was coming out the following week, worried about whether it would live up to the first one and whether people would be disappointed. Excited to see Cynthia, to give her a huge hug and a million kisses and to hear her little voice talk about her weekend with her uncle. Anticipation for Christmas coming up, for Archie coming to town again and the first holiday season in his own house, the first time he could hang Christmas lights.

The closer that they got to Riverdale, the more Betty acted put off by him as well. She was antsy, drawing her hand back from his, talking less, tapping her foot nervously, chewing on her bottom lip and flexing her fingers, the distant scars moving on the skin there. 

He tried to ignore it and push it back down into his system, to the place that he always stored those things,, but the more that he tried, the harder it became to ignore. A nervousness settled at the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach, twisting there and making him second-guess the whole weekend. Had it not been as good for her as it had been for him? Had she not enjoyed herself?

What if she didn’t actually want this? It would be understandable, when he laid everything out in front of her, that maybe she wouldn’t want to be his anymore. Being homeless for those months in high school, getting a girl pregnant at 20, having a kid, an alcoholic father and a torn-apart family. 

Comfort came with the thought that her family was messed up too, how she’d spent the night before crying into his shoulder about how her dad had royally messed up, how she wasn’t sure that she’d ever be able to forgive him - and whether or not she even wanted to.

He looked at her while they waited for their suitcases at baggage claim, the way she had started picking at her fingernail polish, how she nervously pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans to repeatedly check her notifications, pulling her winter coat tighter around herself. It made him nervous for her and for himself, annoyed that there was something that made her feel like that and anxious that maybe he had misread the whole situation and that she was having regrets. 

He took a deep breath and rested his hand on her lower back when he saw their bags come out of the carousel. 

They picked the truck up at the tiny Riverdale airport on the other end of the flight, Betty fidgeting in the front seat as she buckled her seatbelt and plugged her phone into the auxiliary cord, turning on some song he’d never heard before.

He wanted to ask her what was wrong but the reality of actually doing it choked in his throat and drowned his words, the thought that she might regret all of this making him nervous, sweat beading at the back of his neck and his heart beating a little bit faster.

_ You have to try _ , he told himself. And he did. Relationships required communication and although his brain had convinced him that she didn’t want a relationship, he still had to try.

“You okay?” he tried to ask nonchalantly as he pulled onto the highway. 

“Yup,” she said curtly, looking out the window with her arms curled around her body.

“That… wasn’t convincing,” he laughed nervously, hating the way his voice sounded back in his ears. 

She looked at him sadly and distractedl. She was contemplating something serious, biting her lip.

“Sorry, Juggie,” she sighed, like there was something she wanted to say but it was just out of reach. He glanced at her quickly before turning back to the road.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked unsurely. 

“I’m just…,” she sighed again, sadder this time, “not excited to go home and deal with the family thing. Being back in Riverdale just feels like a… weight on my shoulders.”

He let out a massive sigh of relief and immediately felt bad that he wasn’t worried about the situation for her, pulling his emotions back in immediately.

“I thought this was about last night,” he chuckled.

“What?” she said, clearly confused.

“I just thought we had this really nice night then you just sort of… stopped holding my hand and stuff-” Wow he sounded like an idiot. “- and I guess I was just worried you thought we were moving too fast or… I don’t know, maybe it wasn’t enjoyable or-”

“Oh my god, no, not at all!” she exclaimed, animating instantly, her voice perking up full of guilt and humor. “Last night was amazing.” 

“Amazing?” Jughead repeated with a raised eyebrow.

“Were you looking for something more than that?” she teased. He loved the way her voice sounded now, less stressed and more like the Betty he wished life hadn't stolen away.

“I was thinking mind-blowing, heavenly, best-I’ve-ever-had… but I guess amazing is okay, too,” he chuckled and she rolled her eyes goodnaturedly until something crossed her face and he barely caught wind of it before she was talking again.

“You still... don’t regret it, do you?” she asked candidly, the nerves clear in her voice.

“I… never,” he said simply, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I’m still all in, Betty Cooper.”

“Okay good,” she said with a grin, the weight on his chest feeling a little lighter as he pulled onto his street.

* * *

“I’m home!” Jughead called into the front hallway of his house, holding the door open for Betty and setting their suitcases down on the floor.

“Hey, Jug!” Archie called from… the kitchen, Jughead guessed as he surveyed the room, so happy to be home that he wanted to laugh with glee.

(The house smelled like marinara sauce and his stomach grumbled happily in response to the thought of home-cooked food that he didn't have to make himself.)

He looked around, taking in the piles of toys in the living room, the ones that usually stayed in baskets along the wall, but obviously Archie and Cynthia been up at so much that they didn’t clean up. He saw some toys, a stuffed lion and set of toy trains and their corresponding tracks, that he didn’t recognize and had to roll his eyes at how every single person ever felt it necessary to spoil his daughter, especially Archie, who was absolute putty in her hands. 

The sound of little feet pitter-pattering on the hardwood overwhelmed him and before he could stop himself, he was running towards it and his daughter came into view, a huge smile on her face.

“Daddy!” Cynthia squealed in a pitch that was only heard by dogs as she threw herself into his arms.

He scooped her up and clutched her to his chest, swaying back and forth in his spot as he hugged her as tightly as he could. 

“Hi, honey. I missed you,” he whispered in her ear, embarrassed at the way that tears pricked at the back of his eyes at the feeling of his daughter in his arms. He had missed her, even being away for only a few days she seemed bigger. He was finally to the point of being able to be happy when they weren’t together, but it still felt like his heart wasn’t quite whole when she wasn’t with him.

“I missed you too,” she whispered back, tightening her hold around his neck and he took a deep breath, trying to settle his emotions, kissing her temple and if possible, squeezing her even tighter. 

“Did you have fun with Uncle Arch?” he asked, pulling away slightly and brushing some hair away from her face and noticing with a laugh that he dark curls were pulled back into two braids twisting down the sides of her head. “Was this his handiwork?”

“Yup,” she said with a nod, “I taught him how.”

“It looks cute.”

“I know,” she giggled, resting her head on his chest again and he couldn’t help but kiss the top of her head again. “He’s making me spaghetti.”

Jughead gestured to Betty to come to the kitchen with them and he kept a very cuddly Cynthia in his arms, even as he and Archie greeted each other.

“How was the weekend?” Archie asked, stirring a pot of pasta with a comical apron on. “And the party?”

Jughead struggled for the words and had to force a blush down from his cheeks, accepting that the efforts towards his goals were only semi-successful. Betty, on the other hand, succeeded in doing nothing but turning red. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Jughead said sheepishly, adjusting Cynthia’s weight in his arms. Archie waggled his eyebrows and turned back to the food. 

“You wanna tell your dad what we said you guys should do this year?” Archie chose to say instead, looking at Cynthia pointedly. 

“Guess!” Cynthia squealed.

Betty and Jughead looked at each other cluelessly, Betty clearly stifling giggles. 

“A Christmas tree!” she said excitedly, looking up at Jughead. “Can we get a real one this year?”

The thought swelled in his chest and his heart, the fact that he could get his daughter a real Christmas tree this year tugged at every heartstring he had in his whole body. It was a proud moment as a father, getting to replace all of his bad memories from childhood with Cynthia’s good ones, his tears and frustration and disappointment with the excitement and magic she felt at something as simple as a Christmas tree. 

He had flashes of having to skip ice-skating with Archie because he didn’t have skates, of his classmates talking about all the present they got when he got one toy, used and from the thrift store, of driving by houses decked out in lights and inflatable Santa Clauses. 

“Yes, we can  _ definitely _ get a real one,” he laughed, turning to Betty as Cynthia wiggled to be let down to do god knew what, “Do you have a tree yet?” 

“I already got one,” she replied sheepishly. “The Coopers start Christmas early.”

“Well, you can still come with us to get ours!” Cindy said brightly. “Uncle Archie’s going home tomorrow morning but you can come with us!”

Betty got down to Cynthia's level but was looking up at Jughead, silently asking him a question.

“If that’s okay with you, then I’d love to,” Betty replied, evidently not wanting to encroach on their family traditions but he wouldn't have had it any other way. He nodded with a grin, the thought of the three of them picking out a tree together being a perfectly happy thought for him. He tried to ignore Archie’s grin out of the corner of his eye. 

“Tonight?” Cynthia asked hopefully.

“I think Betty is really tired right now though,” Jughead interjected, more for himself as he felt like he was a walking dead person, desperate for his familiar bed and home, “So maybe we can go tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” the little girl agreed. 

Betty said goodbye to Cynthia and Archie and Jughead walked her to the car that she’d parked in his driveway for while they were gone. 

“You gonna get home okay?” he asked, swinging her suitcase into the trunk and closing it quickly.

“Yes,” she laughed. "I may be tired but I'm sure that I'll be able to manage the two miles quite easily."

"You'll drive safe?"

"Yes, Juggie," she said with a giggle and an eye roll as he pulled her in a hug. 

"Well, if you're sure," he said lowly. 

She looked up at him and he wondered again how someone so beautiful, so perfect was the one who wanted him. The smile that took over her face and eyes, the flush in her cheeks from the cold, the way she looked at him. 

“Thanks again for everything this weekend, Juggie,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. “It was absolutely perfect.”

He second guessed his next words but repeated in his head that he was all in. 

“Anything for you,” he said seriously, pulling back to take her face in his hands and press a kiss to her lips. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow? At… 10 am? I have to take Arch to the airport early.” 

“Perfect,” she said, kissing him quickly and opening her car door. “Then I won’t have to miss you for too long.”

He laughed and gave her one last kiss through the open window of the car before she pulled off to her side of Riverdale.

* * *

When he got back into the house, Archibald Andrews was doing the dishes and Cynthia was sitting on the couch, watching some television program about talking dogs.

“Never thought we’d be here,” Jughead laughed, taking a beer out of the fridge and popping the top off with the back of a kitchen knife, stopping to watch Archie thoughtfully.

“Me doing dishes you mean?” Archie asked, drying his hands off with a towel and mirroring Jughead’s posture, leaning against the counter.

"I guess," Jughead said with a shrug.

“Now tell me about this weekend," Archie prompted and Jug flashed back to them in high school, gossiping like two... teenagers.

The dad glanced into the living room to see Cynthia fully engrossed in what she was doing, paying absolutely no attention to what the men were doing. 

“The party went well,” he replied sheepishly.

“And the after-party?”

“That went well, too,” Jughead said with a blush.

“My _man_!” Archie exclaimed, patting him heavily on the shoulder. “Atta boy!”

“I’m going to ask her to be my girlfriend, I think,” Jughead said sheepishly, adjusting the beanie on his head. “I just… want that with her.”

“Good for you,” Archie said honestly. “You deserve it.”

Jughead, for the millionth time this hour alone, was overwhelmed with emotion and cleared his throat. 

“Thanks, man,” he said. 

“I mean it, Jug,” Archie said, his voice taking on the rare serious tone. “She makes you happy and you deserve that.”

Jughead nodded in reply, taking a swig of his beer to swallow the lump in his throat. 

“By the way, I have to ask you something,” Archie said, seriously still and the lump in Jughead’s throat turned from that of touched emotion to rampant anxiety, not knowing what Archie was going to say.

“Okay,” Jughead squeaked.

“Can I bring Veronica for Christmas?” 

“I thought she was going to… Barbados?”

“Plans fell through,” Archie replied with a shrug. “I told her I was coming here and before she could say anything I invited her.”

“I-”

“We can get a hotel so we're not a hassle,” Archie clarified.

“No, no,” Jughead said with a shake of his head, “No, you guys can stay here. It’ll be easier to get to know her that way.” 

Archie grinned and Jughead could see that his best friend was itching to say something else.

“Spit it out, Archie,” Jughead laughed.

“I really like her,” Archie said, his expression the picture of happiness. “Like… I  _ really _ like her.” 

“I’m happy for you,” Jughead said as Archie’s eyebrows raised. “Really, I am.”

“I’m happy for us, too,” the redhead replied, turning back to the sink a little too nonchalantly. “Is… is your dad coming for Christmas?” 

Jughead sighed heavily and tried to wrap around the thought of both guest rooms being full at the same time around Christmas. 

“I haven’t talked to him since… Thanksgiving. He said he might come.” He picked at a loose thread on his flannel. “I’m not going to hold my breath.”

Archie nodded with a false wisdom that didn’t suit him and Jughead’s heart fell into the pit of his stomach. 

“And JB?” Archie probed further. 

“I couldn’t tell ya, Arch,” Jughead sighed, tugging his beanie further onto his head. “Mom is off with some guy and JB just… I don’t know. She’s doing the college thing and I just couldn’t tell you if Dad coming would be a motivator or a deterrent for her at this point. Family politics are too exhausting.”

“But getting involved in Betty’s are okay?” Archie laughed.

“That’s different,” Jughead said with a blush. 

“Because you _love_ her,” Archie teased singsongingly.

“I… whatever," Jughead replied with blush and an eye-roll.

Archie just laughed.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead, Betty, and Cynthia go Christmas tree shopping.

“Good morning,” Jughead said cheerfully as Betty pulled open the truck door open to climb into the front seat the next day.

“Good morning!” Cynthia called from the back and Betty turned around to squeeze the little girl’s ankle over her booster seat. 

“Hello , Cynthia! You excited to get a tree?” Betty replied, her voice bubbly and excited.  Jughead couldn’t help but break into a grin that covered his whole face. He loved watching them interact and seeing the two of them interact as excitedly as they were right now put … very manly butterflies in his stomach. 

“Yes! ” Cynthia squealed as Jughead tapped his ear to get his hearing back.  “Daddy said we get to pick one out, our very own tree! And that Mister Tate who works at Pop’s will be there and that maybe we’ll see him too!”

“We do! Are we going to Pop’s?” Betty asked, more to Jughead.

“Yup,” he nodded in response to her excitement and then handed her a to-go mug from the center console.  “By the way, caffeine for you.”

Jughead took another swig of his coffee to hide his smile at the grin she gave him in response.

“Ah, the sweet taste of caffeine in the morning,” she said, taking the home-brewed espresso that he’d made in his fancy machine and took a sip gratefully, turning around again to ask Cynthia what kind of tree that she wanted.

* * *

As it turned out, Betty should have been asking _Jughead_  the same question.

“How the heck am I supposed to know what  kind of tree should we get? ” he asked, cluelessly looking around, completely overwhelmed with the amount of options that there were around the tree lot, with the amount of people milling around him, all with places to go and a clear idea of what they wanted. 

Never having grown up with a real tree (or a tree at all for that matter, artificial or otherwise), he’d expected to just show up and have one option to pick from. He’d had no idea that there were so many different types to choose from, Douglas fir and Noble fir and Blue Spruce and then split up by heights, some of them unwrapped already, the netting cut from the branches, families comparing trees seriously, trees that looked the exact same to him. 

He could see Tate and they waved at him before the weight of the task came back to Jughead's shoulders. 

Betty must have seen his gaping fish face because she started steering him in the right direction. 

“You doing okay there?” she asked, patting his comfortingly on the arm.

“How the hell am I supposed to choose a tree?” he muttered under his breath as she giggled.

“So, for your height ceilings, you could probably get away with a 10 foot tree, but that means more work and more lights and decorations,” she said slowly, like she was guiding him through it.

“Okay.” He swallowed thickly.  “And what type?”

“Go with Douglas fir,” she said surely as Cynthia took her hand, peering up at the blonde curiously,  “They last the longest and I like the look of them the best.”

“Me too!” Cynthia piped up and Jughead laughed at how she imitated Betty, looking up to her figuratively and literally. "They're my favorite."

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Betty laughed, poking the tip of Cynthia’s nose. 

The three of them, Cynthia and Betty’s hands still grasped, walked towards the tree and a helpful kid, who couldn’t have been more than 15, jumped out to help them, and Jughead was thrilled to discover that he was _actually_ helpful.

Ten minutes later, Jughead and the boy were carrying the tree to the cashier. 

“Daddy?” Cynthia called in the most adorable voice he’d ever heard as he stood next to the checkout counter. 

He squatted down to her level and pushed some of the hair out of her face.

“ Yeah, Cynds? ”

“Can … can I get a tree for my room, too?” She asked unsurely, like it was something taboo to ask for. He wondered if she knew the significance of not sharing a one bedroom apartment, her kid’s sized princess-themed bed in the corner while he slept alone in the double that he and Ashley used to share. He wondered if she recognized the weird limbo that the two of them were in now, the constant changes of financial security.

His heart melted into a puddle around his feet and he scooped her in a bear hug and kissed all over her face as she halfheartedly pushed him away. 

“We can definitely do that, honey,” he said and her grin lit up his entire world and he put her back on the ground. 

She immediately grabbed Betty’s hand again. 

“ What kind do you want? ” he asked.

“A gud-las fir,” Cynthia said, grinning up at the blonde.

“Douglas fir, Cynds,” Jughead correctly gently.

“Oh,” Cynthia giggled,  “Yeah, that kind.”

“We can go look over there,” Betty suggested. The thought of actually picking a tree now looked to be overwhelming the little girl, who started at the big bunches of pine trees like they were piles of spiders. 

“It needs to be small like me,” Cynthia said unsurely, taking Jughead’s hand too as she stood between the two adults. 

“What about those ones over there?” Betty asked, pointing to the group of small trees, still taller than Cynthia but much closer to her height. 

“Are those okay?” Cynthia asked unsurely, looking up at her dad as if she needed his approval with a furrowed brow.

It made his heart hurt and glow at the same time, the fact that he got to spoil her like this but that she hadn’t lost what it felt like to have to ask for everything. She looked so adorable, dark curls around her eyes and a worried expression on her face, so adorable that he had to laugh and couldn’t resist picking her up, yet again. He wondered if this feeling would ever go away, the feeling when he looked at her and felt like his heart might explode in his chest from all the love that he felt for her. 

“We can get whatever you want,” he said seriously, feeling like he might buy her a pony if she asked him nicely enough, and Cynthia squealed.

“Thank you, Daddy!” she said but she was quickly wiggling in his arms, squirming and trying to get away.  “Let me down! Let me down so I can _pick one_! ”

She ran quickly away and Betty bumped her shoulder against his as they followed slowly after the bouncing little girl. 

“You’re a good dad, Jughead Jones,” she said, squeezing his hand as Cynthia looked at one of the small trees thoughtfully like she was considering the pros and cons of each one. 

“ She really does make it easy," he said, trying to hide his blush beneath his beanie.

“I’m serious, ” she chided softly.

“It’s just … I don’t know, nice I guess? To be able to give her a real Christmas,” he said with a shrug.

“That’s understandable,” she said with a nod,  “But … I don’t think she needs all that. I think she’s just happy to be with you.”

“You think? ”

“I know, ” she said softly.  “She loves you so much, Jug. I’m sure there will come a day when you can actually do wrong in her eyes, but these are not those days.”

He kicked some pine needles with the toe of his boot and gave it a thought. Right now, he probably could do no wrong in Cynthia's eyes. He was the one who took her to soccer practice and the movies, who made her food every night and helped her with her homework when the vocabulary words were particularly hard. It worried him that someday it wouldn't be like this, that he wouldn't be her favorite person in the whole world, that she might not jump into his arms every time he came home from a weekend trip.

He shook the thoughts from his head, taking a deep breath and reminding himself to stay present in the moment. 

“She’s pretty fond of you, too,” he added, just to see her reaction. She blushed.

“ I don’t know about that," she said skeptically.

“I do. She hasn’t ever taken to someone like she has with you,” he said honestly. 

“Really? ” She feigned indifference.

“Yeah, ” he said, placing a hand at the small of her back and squeezing her side,  “Makes me like you all the more.”

“I like you too, Juggie, ” she laughed, squeezing the hand on her side with thick mittens and even the slightest contact through five layers of knit fabric sent a shiver down his spine.

* * *

“The whole family out for a little excursion today?” the plump old lady, who was checking them out after Cynthia picked their second tree, whose name tag said Joanne, said with a twinkle in her eye.

“Uh,” Jughead paused, looking at Betty who had a look on her face that said _don’t look at me_ and luckily the woman realized her error and turned to Cynthia.

“You’ve got a lovely tree!” Joanne said to Cynthia, whose eyes lit up with Christmas joy, and all of sudden, Jughead ached for daughter to have a grandma.  “Is that one all for you?”

“Yes! Daddy said it can go in my room!” Cindy said excitedly.  “ I’m gonna get rainbow decorations! ”

“Wow, what a lucky girl you are!” the woman replied as Jughead pulled out his wallet. 

“Uh, a few packs of tree food and two bases and…” He snapped as he tried to come up with the word.  “Do you have any of those things that go around the bottom? The decoration things?”

“Tree skirts,” Betty added helpfully and he nodded.

“ Those will be inside, near the ornaments. ”

“Good, we need those too,” he laughed. 

“You can’t miss the display and lucky you, we just got a shipment in this morning so you’ll have lots to choose from,” Joanne said.  “ We can hold the trees for you if you want to go get that stuff then come back out?”

They agreed that the idea made a lot of sense and so they went inside towards the large display of decorations, where Cynthia made herself busy with picking out the different festive ornaments for her very own tree. 

Betty trailed behind them, running her hands over the individual ornaments and holding some of them up thoughtfully. 

“What are you going to get for the …” She held her hands up in air quotes.  “ _Grown-up tree?_ ”

“I honestly hadn’t given it two thoughts together, ” Jughead replied honestly.  “What do you think we should do?”

“Depends on what you like,” she teased.  “Are you more of a _A Christmas Story_ kind of guy, colored lights, tinsel, big colorful ornaments? Or are you a Macy’s, curated Christmas celebrator? ”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” He asked confusedly. 

“For being a literal part of popular culture, FP Jones the third, you sure are clueless,” she laughed.

“ Well, while it’s always exciting to be made fun of, that still doesn’t answer my question. ”

“Well, I always wanted a big star like that,” she said, pointing to the one on top of the tree closest to them. A sparkling, glittering, gold thing that would have screamed Christmas from twelve miles away.  “My parents had one growing up and I didn’t have the money when I first bought my Christmas decorations, so I bought a cheap version of it.”

“And what about the rest of the tree?” He laughed, picking the star up and putting it in his basket, trying to ignore the way that she looked semi-longingly at the package. 

“ Colored lights or white lights? ” she said, shaking her head and snapping out of her thoughts. 

“Well … what do you have on yours?”

“Jughead, you can’t just copy mine,” she chuckled. 

“ Why not? You have great taste."

“As flattering as that is, I promise you it’s not that hard,” she insisted,  “Pick some lights, pick a couple big boxes of ornaments and you’re good to go. You handle that and I’ll go help Cindy pick out the ornaments for her tree.”

As she walked away, Jughead had the startling realization that Betty had used a nickname to address his daughter, the first time she'd ever done that. 

He quickly grabbed a big box of red and gold ornaments and a few boxes of white lights and breathed a sigh of relief at something that had seemed much more intimidating than it should have.

With his own tasks done, he was content to watch Betty as she held Cynthia in her arms and carried her from sample tree to sample tree, picking out individual ornaments and boxes of others, the pile in the basket steadily growing in a mess of color and texture. Unsurprisingly, his exuberant daughter picked rainbow ornaments, bright pinks and blues and greens sparkling in a massive box of thankfully shatter-proof ornaments.

She and Cynthia turned to grin at him at the same time and he thought about how her arms must be hurting, how Cynthia wasn’t that little anymore, how the sight of this, Cynthia giggling happily and Betty laughing happily along with her too, made the cracks in his heart feel like they were cemented together.

His daughter eventually wiggled to get down and Betty not-so-slyly made her way back over to his side. 

As Cynthia’s back turned, he wrapped an arm around Betty’s shoulder and pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. She looked up at him, eyes literally twinkling from the flashing lights of the mock-up tree in front of them, and he kissed her right then and there, only cornier if there had been mistletoe above them. 

He pulled away as he heard the patter of little feet coming back around the aisle and when he opened his eyes, Betty looked as dazed as he felt, electrified and sedated all in one feeling, like he was calm and buzzing and happy all in one emotion. 

She leaned into him a little bit more and he wondered if she knew that she was doing it, like two magnets moving together. 

“You know, I’ve come here every year since I was a little kid, ” she said, taking another sip of her coffee and clearing her throat uncertainly,  “It’s like a tradition for me.”

“Maybe,” he coughed, looking down at his own cup and smiling shyly, his heart pounding with nerves in his chest, his throat a little tight,  “Maybe this’ll be a new tradition.”

She tried to hide a smile and the blush on her cheeks made him fall for her all over again. 

“Maybe, ” she said noncommittally. 

“I’ll have you know, I’m the most eligible bachelor in town,” he said, trying to push the perhaps over-zealous comment out of her head with some humor.

“Uh huh, ” she teased, tossing back the last sip of espresso.  “Whatever you say, Forsythe.”

* * *

Betty and Cynthia belted out Christmas carols along with the radio for the whole ride home, with an alarming amount of incorrect lyrics. He even felt gripped enough by the spirit of the season to sing along with a few choruses. 

He and Betty carried the trees into the house and after much debate, decided to set the main, large one in front of the main window at the front of the house so that the lights and the decorations could be seem from the house. 

He had no idea that it took that much time and effort to center a tree, but Betty was insistent that they had to get the base straight and the screws exactly in and that the water had to be put in at a certain time and that they had to vacuum _after_ they set up the tree and put the lights on or else it would just be _completely_ pointless. 

It was sweet, to see her put that much effort into making. He wondered if, and then realized, she knew how much it meant to him, but when she smiled up at him from her kneeling position on the floor, tightening the screws around the tree trunk one last time, he had a feeling that she did, that she knew how much these seemingly mundane moments mattered to him, the times that he’d never had in his life. Normalcy. 

Cynthia, of course, fell asleep on the couch with _The Grinch Who Stole Christmas_ still playing softly in the background in the early afternoon and his revelry in the unremarkable was interrupted.

“Shit, ” Betty said suddenly, standing up and frantically checking her phone.

“What?" Jughead asked, alarmed. 

“I’m supposed to be at the office in ten minutes and …  oh god. I forgot that my mom set this meeting with a freelancer who’s trying to sell us some story in connection with the voting scandal and- ”

“Betts- “ Jughead tried to interject.

“And I completely forgot and the office is locked and no one’s there and he’s just going to be standing outside and I'm going to be late- ”

“Betty!” Jughead exclaimed with a laugh.  “Take the truck. We don’t have plans for the day. Come back when you’re done and then we’ll take you back to your place."

“Juggie …” she said, the hesitation clear in her voice.  “You’d trust me with your car? I... I couldn’t do that.”

“I trust you with my kid, some crummy truck is the least of my worries, ” he replied with a chuckle, tossing the keys to her.

She stared down at the keys in the palm of her hand and then back up at him unsurely.

"You're _sure_ you're sure?" 

"Yes," he laughed. 

“You’re the absolute best,” she said, coming over to him and hugging him around the neck.  “Every time I think you couldn’t get better you go and prove me wrong.”

“This is so not a big deal,” he laughed. 

She grinned at him and checked that Cynthia was asleep one last time.

"It's a big deal with me," she said, kissing his softly.

“ Get to work, you slacker, ” he teased, smacking her ass as she turned to grab her coat and bag. She giggled and launched herself back into his arms.

“I had a lot of fun today, Jughead,” she whispered against his lips, kissing him quickly.  “For the record, I would very much like that to become some sort of tradition.”

* * *

When Betty came back, he had already taken Cynthia upstairs and tucked her into bed. As he heard the truck pull up, he went into the kitchen and reheated the lasagne they’d had for dinner.

There was a knock on the door and he had to laugh at how absurd it seemed.

“Are you serious?” He said as he pulled it open.  “You’re _knocking?_ ”

“Well … just cause I have the key doesn’t mean I want to barge in, ” she said matter-of-factly, placing the keyring back in his hands.  “That’s just rude.”

“I heated up some lasagne for you if you want it,” he said after they kissed hello.

“That sounds amazing,” she said with a happy sigh.

* * *

A hour later, they sat, or rather laid, making out on the couch like teenagers and the thought repeated over and over in his head that he could get used to this, spending the day together and then spending adult time together after Cynthia went to sleep, watching movies and cuddling.

He kissed the spot where her jaw met her ear and she wiggled against him, trying half-heartedly to push him away.

“You should be taking me home soon,” she said softly, her voice betraying how out of her element she felt.

"No,” he whined against her neck,  “Don’t wanna.”

“ Juggie …”

“Stay,” he said, kissing the skin where her pulse flared, her collar bone, her shoulder.

“No, ” she laughed, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him away gently. 

“Why not? ”

“I’m not going to spend the night, ” she said seriously.

“Why not? ” He repeated.

“You know why not, ” she said chidingly. 

“I… ” he started as he laid his head onto her shoulder, frustrated and wanting to snuggle into her and never get up. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Juggie?” she said, lifting his face up so she could press a soft kiss to his lips.  “I want to, but I think it’s best that we take this slow.”

“Hasn’t this been slow enough already?” he complained, dropping his head back to her shoulder.

“Whose fault is that, mister?” she laughed.

“Whatever,” he pouted.  “Take the truck and bring it back tomorrow.”

“We can’t make this a habit,” she said softly, running her hand through the back of his hair in a move that was so comforting it made him want to cry,  “I don’t want to …  encroach in on your family’s space.”

“That’s not how it feels, ” he said quickly,  “I hope you don't think that’s- ”

“No,” she said quickly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, a kiss that squashed all of his worries in an instant.  “I just … I want you to be sure that letting me into these kind of times is what you want"

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m sure before you believe me?” He asked uncertainly.

She grinned.  “Maybe just like … two or three dozen more times. Tops.”

He laughed and handed her the keys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Christmas in July! It’s been SO hot where I live and I’m completely desperate for winter already. So… what did you think? We’re finally getting into some serious fluff.


	20. Chapter 20

Just because he was doing so much better didn’t mean that he didn’t have his off-days.

(He was a dad, after all.)

After a blissful weekend of twinkling lights and glittering ornaments, the hellacious Thursday had started and ended with writer’s block. He’d been unable to produce anything more than fluff dialog and crummy descriptions, practically pounding his head against the desk in frustration. He paced around the room, read some of the most inspiring passages from his favorite books, jogged around the back yard, forced himself to write, and still… nothing. There was a block in his brain that pulsed at his temples and pinched at his neck.

He knew why it was happening. He’d been feeling on edge all day, his shoulders filled with of the tension that he could feel in his very bones.

He had spilled milk all over his clothes as he poured cereal for breakfast.

He had dropped Cynthia’s iPad and cracked the very corner of the screen through the protective case.

Speaking of Cynthia, she had, over the course of the morning and the subsequent school day, turned into a tiny human form of anger and frustration and it was driving him crazy. She’d had been uncharacteristically cranky and crabby, whining and throwing tantrums at every turn, content to go against his every word and contradict every action he asked of her.

When he told her to grab her backpack, she yelled back that she didn’t want to. Trying to get her to carry her own coat, let alone put it on, was impossible. She barely said goodbye to him as she ran out of the car and through the school gate, leaving him flabbergasted in the car behind her.

In all of her intelligence and awareness and sass, it was nearly impossible to reason with a stubborn five-year-old.

He tried to chalk it up to the fact that the December holiday break was about to start and the kids were all just restless. _She needs a break,_ he told himself. He hoped, more than truly believed, that this was an explanation.

He half-heartedly tried to rationalize it all and talk himself down. Logically, he knew that it was highly unlikely that she would remember their first interactions by the end of her day, after she bounced around between her friends and her teachers. In reality, he knew that life meant that his daughter wasn’t going to listen sometimes, but the behavior was so out of character for her that it sent his brain reeling down a million self-blaming paths.

There were days when he felt like he was a pretty good dad, but a misbehaving child was never something that aided his confidence. It filled him with guilt all day, the thought of her being mad at him or even just upset with him for the remainder of the day. Everything that he did was consumed with thoughts of the ways that he was inadequate, how he was letting her down, the weight of it on his shoulders constantly.

When he picked her up after school, she told him that she’d gotten a yellow card, the signifier in her classroom that she hadn’t been listening or had been misbehaving. In her four months of school, she’d never gotten one before and he couldn’t help but feel like their morning had put her on a bad foot for the rest of the day.

She didn’t talk to him when she got back into the car, pushed his hands away when he tried to help her buckle her seatbelt across her booster seat. The way she reacted to his attempts to get her to eat broccoli with her mac and cheese made it sound like he was trying to force-feed her poison.

It was one of those nights when he just let her sit on the iPad, completely exhausted and overwhelmed and thinking a million thoughts that were doing nothing to help his current mood.

These moments made him realize all over again the reality of being a single parent in a town where he had no family. It was a school night when he couldn’t depend on other parents and just pawn his kid off on someone else to get them both out of their funk. The reality of single parenthood was long nights with a crying child who just didn’t want to eat her vegetables and wouldn’t tell him why she got in trouble and the frustration of knowing that there was nothing that he could do to help her.

There had been days when Cynthia had been like this before and he’d been completely okay, and for some reason he just wasn’t today. He tried to breathe and felt himself too overwhelmed, settling for having a beer and watching stupid sitcom reruns, avoiding a call from his dad and another from JB in favor of what should have been a relaxing time.

But it wasn’t.

It hadn’t helped that he hadn’t seen Betty since Sunday. He itched for her presence like a moth to a flame; he wished that she was here next to him or here to help with Cynthia. She’d gone to the movies with Polly and he had resisted the urge to text her repeatedly, knowing she wouldn’t get home until eleven at the earliest.

He changed the channel and tried to roll his neck, finding it barely possible, the realization clenching his jaw. There was a tightness in his chest and his shoulders that overwhelmed him in the worst way. Dropping his head in either direction shot a pain down his arm and without thinking, he reached blindly for his phone on the couch cushion next to him.

 _Call me when you get home?_ He texted quickly, giving into the urge to contact her in some way.

As expected, he got radio silence in return.

He heard Cynthia’s iPad game, the one she was playing on the slightly cracked screen in the other room, and his thoughts drifted back to his daughter. He wanted to go say something her, something profound that would make her feel better and behave better and get them out of the funk they’d had all day.

But the words, as they often did, choked in his throat and in a downward spiral of thoughts he found himself close to tears again.

His thoughts went to his dad, how he’d been let down so many times by a father who didn’t know how to empathize or connect, who chose to act in anger instead of taking a moment to pursue understanding. How FP’s needs and wants were constantly above the rest of the family’s, how Jughead still felt the reverberations of his childhood, how he couldn’t express his emotions for fear of being yelled at, pushing them down further and further until they swelled up in his stomach.

It weighed heavy in his chest and in his heart.

He tried to zone it all out and focus on the blurred television screen in front of him, the words and characters fading together, the jokes going swiftly over his head as he sunk further down. The pain shot up the side of his neck again.

His phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts, and his heart skipped a beat at Betty’s name on the screen.

“Hi,” Betty answered with a laugh as he picked up the call.

He took a deep breathe and it was either that or the sound of her voice, but he instantly felt slightly better.

“Hi, how was the movie?”

“It was good. Polly talked about the kids and we went to one of those theaters that serve booze and we had a couple glasses of wine and had to Uber home but Jason had dropped us off so that was okay and-”

“You a little tipsy then?” he laughed, but he could hear that the sound didn’t reach the edges of his voice and it came out more like a bark.

“Just a little bit. But like barely. I think I’m just old. One glass of wine on an empty stomach makes me tipsy now.”

“I’d hardly call 27 old.”

“Well anyways-” she rambled on.

His thoughts wandered back to Cynthia in the other room, the faint sound of her virtual games ringing through his thoughts, the way that she’d yelled at him earlier echoing between his ears.

“Juggie…” Betty interrupted suddenly and he snapped back into reality.

It’d been a while since he’d done that, zoned completely out of his conversation.

“Yeah,” he replied quickly, “I’m here.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice full of concern and like always, being asked that question made his throat clench and swell up.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” he said shortly.

“Don’t lie to me, Jug,” she sighed deeply.

“I’m fine.”

“Tell me,” she urged, her voice stronger this time.

He shook his head and took a deep breath.

 _You have to try_.

“I’m… overwhelmed. It’s been a tough day with Cynthia.”

“Do you want me to come over?” she asked unsurely.

“Honestly, yeah, but it’s a school night. I’ve got to put her to bed soon.”

“Makes sense…” she said with a pregnant pause.

“What?” he sighed.

“I don’t want to overstep my boundaries,” she said slowly, apprehension in her voice in a rare moment of being self-conscious.

“Don’t be silly,” he chuckled darkly, “There are no boundaries when it comes to us.”

“Well,” she said with a bark of a laugh that matched his, in an instant her voice was serious again, “What did your therapist tell you to do in these situations?”

“Breathe, self-talk, triggers,” he repeated mechanically, slowly, without thinking.

“And have you tried all of that?”

“No,” he admitted, ashamed that he hadn’t thought of it, hadn’t done it, the heat of guilt on his lower back and swelling up in his throat.

“Take a deep breath, Juggie,” she said instantly and before he could think, his body was following her command.

“Okay,” he said shakily.

“Say, ‘I’m a good dad,’” she said next and the words died in his throat.

“I-I-”

“Juggie, you know deep down that it’s true. You love Cynthia so much. You’d give her anything in the world. _You’re a good dad_.”

“I’m a good dad,” he breathed, and the tightness in his chest lessened, his shoulders dropping from by his ears.

The line was silent for a few moments.

“Fuck,” he swore lowly.

“It’s okay, Juggie, really,” she comforted, “You’re still new to this. Everyone has bad days.”

“New to it? I’ve been going for four months,” he said darkly, “And I can’t even remember what’s been drilled into my head a million times.”

“You’ve been going for four months and you have nearly thirty years of habits to dissect and potentially change,” she said sharply, in a bossy tone that made him thankful for her in ways he didn’t know he could be.

“You’re right,” he sighed, leaning against the headrest behind him and rolling his neck again, which thankfully moved a little more now.

He took a deep breath and counted before exhaling.

“I’m always right,” she said softly.

“Not untrue,” he chuckled, the sound much more genuine this time around.

It helped, the laughter and her voice and the breathing, and he could practically hear Betty smiling.

“You feeling better?” she asked, her voice tender and loving and again emotion swelled up inside of him, but this time the feeling was warm and pleasant in his chest. He told her yes and spent the next few minutes listening to her voice.

* * *

Eventually he went over to Cynthia, who was staring resolutely at the iPad, and curled up next to her.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked softly, brushing some of her hair away from her face, looking around her face, her little button nose, her long eyelashes, the little curls around her face, as she bit her lip in concentration.

She looked up at him, big brown eyes and he thought of Ashley of course, the way that their eyes matched.

“No, I’m not mad at you, Daddy,” she sighed, a little dramatically. He looked around her face and could see that she was still upset about something.

“Did I do something wrong?” he tired.

“No,” she said softly, and she bit her lip to look up at him, turning on her side so her face is next to him on the pillow. He struggled for another straw to pull, another thing that he could ask her about.

“Is something going on at school?” he probed more, trying desperately to get to the bottom of it, Betty’s voice in his head telling him he’s a good dad urging him on.

“Am I ever going to have another Mommy?” she asked suddenly.

His heart skipped a beat.

“What?” he asked incredulously. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see his jaw on the floor.

“All the other kids in my class have a mom and a dad and I just have a dad and I know it’s because Mommy died but…” Her voice trailed off.

“I… Do you… do you want another Mom?” he asked unsurely.

“I think so…” she said, her brow furrowed like she was deep in thought, “Someday.”

“I think I might like that too,” he replied, trying to gauge her reaction. “Someday.”

“But… I don’t want my mom… my mom in heaven to think that I don’t love her.”

He felt tears at his eyes and pressure in his throat build in the quickest of instants. His little girl was always surprising him and right now it made him want to burst into ugly tears.

“Aw, Cynds,” he choked out, taking her in his arms and holding her against him, “she’d never think that.”

She looked up at him.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and wiping his hair out of his face like he always did hers.

“I’m not sad,” he sniffed, “I’m really proud of you. You… you’re just… such a good little girl, you know that?”

“Thanks,” she giggled and he matched her, the sound contagious.

Even despite her giggle being back, concern built in his thoughts.

“What’s got you thinking about this?” he asked softly.

“Just… a boy in my class told me I didn’t have a family because I don’t have a mommy like him,” she said, tucking her head under his chin.

“Well, that’s not nice,” he replied shortly, trying not to let the anger bubble up inside of him.

“Yeah, it’s not… but then I beat him at the words quiz so it was okay.”

“That’s my girl,” he laughed.

She nodded underneath him and tucked her head under his chin.

“We’re still a family, Cynds,” he said softly, “We’re a family just the two of us and if there’s another Mommy in the picture someday, we’ll be a family then too. I’ll always be yours no matter what.”

“And I’ll always be yours too?” she asked.

“Always,” he replied.

“Even if I get another mommy and even if I don’t?”

“Always,” he repeated.

“Even if… we live in Riverdale forever?” she asked.

“Yup, then too.”

“Ever if-”

“Even if you grow a tail and become a puppy,” he chuckled, poking the tip of her nose.

“Why wouldn’t you love me if I was a puppy?” she said, scrunching her nose in confusion, “Puppies are the best.”

He just laughed and tried not to think about Cynthia swinging between his and Betty’s hands, a picture of a little family.

* * *

It snuck up on him so slowly that the sudden realization hit him like a ton of ton of bricks over the head.

It snuck up on in his conversations with Archie, the way that Betty had infiltrated herself into all of his anecdotes; the stories that he told were now intricately detailed with her presence.

It was in Cynthia’s daily life, the way that she told him that she missed Betty when they didn’t see her for a couple days, how his daughter got progressively closer to Betty every time they went to the park, the way that she moved towards Betty without even thinking about it.

It was the way that instead of feeling nervous around her, remembering how his palms used to sweat and his words choked up, now he felt an inexplicable calm wash over him. How when he was feeling down, anxious, filled with grief, her number was the first he dialed.

This was love, he realized with a start.

Not wanting to be apart from someone for even one second.

Not wanting to go a day without hearing her voice.

Feeling complete when they were together.

It was startling, to realize truly how deep his feelings for her went. He wondered if he would ever stop seeing her through rose-tinted lenses, if he would ever stop being amazed at how she cared wholeheartedly for everyone that she met. How she took care of her niece and nephew when her family needed her. How patient and understanding she was with him and Cynthia. How thoughtful she was, like when he needed something she was one step ahead, like she could read his thoughts.

It brought back feelings from his past, the uncertainty of not knowing if this was right, but those feelings felt like a distant memory now, unafraid of the implications of letting somebody in.

He thought of Ashley and whether they’d get along. The differences were stark but in so many things, they shared similarities. Their loving sides. Spunk and sass and humor.

They both felt like his destiny. Ashley was his destiny, a relationship that made him grow and mature, a relationship that brought him Cynthia, that brought him into fatherhood, that made him who he was supposed to be. Betty, who felt like a breath of fresh air, understanding and thoughtful, meeting him where he was.

What he’d had with Ashley had been love and he loved Betty too. His relationship with Ashley didn’t make this relationship any less of love and this didn’t make that less either.

Love went both ways, from friendship and to friendship, from life to death and back again.

He realized, as he often did, that Cynthia had come to the conclusion before he had. She realized that she could love her mom and also love another person. He had preached it to her and hadn’t believed it himself. It was weird, to realize after all these months that loving Betty didn’t mean he loved Ashley less. It didn’t mean he was doing a disservice to their relationship, to the history that had brought him to where he was, or Cynthia’s relationship with her mother.

He wondered if it was possible to have multiple soulmates or if the universe had been preparing him for both, two loves so different and exactly what he needed. If he believed in fates and gods and destiny, he had a feeling that they all would've brought him to this exactly moment. 

He focused and focused, and in his head, the comparison had stopped. It was no longer comparing Ashley to Betty and Betty to Ashley. It was just fond memories, separated in his head by time and character.

The next day, Friday after school, he and Betty sat on the park bench at the school playground and watched the kids play. She ran comforting strokes through the back of his hair under his beanie, the winter sun beating down on them and warming his skin just like her touch was warming him.

He turned to look at her and knew it was the right time to tell her, the warmth in his chest looking at her smile.

“I love you, Betty Cooper,” he said.

She turned to him, the shyest prettiest smile on her face, her cheeks blushed and her bottom lip caught in between her teeth.

“Jughead Jones,” she said, her voice sappy, “I love you.”


	21. Chapter 21

On the last day of school before break, Betty and Jughead grabbed coffee.

“I think we need to tell Cynthia,” Jughead said as he poured a little half and half into his cup.

“You do?” Betty said, genuine surprise all over her face.

“I don’t know about you but…” He took a big gulp of air. “I’m pretty serious about this.”

She blushed as her actions matched his and in an instant, Jughead realized they were rubbing off on each other, the half and half in his coffee that he’d never drank before he moved to Riverdale.

“I…” she paused, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek briefly. “Me too.”

“So that’s okay?” he clarified. 

“Yes,” she chuckled.

“Any…. advice?” he asked sheepishly. 

“You’re asking me for… advice?” she laughed.

“You know about kids and stuff.” 

“I’m not going to tell you how to tell your daughter that you’re dating someone,” she laughed. 

“Yeah, but you’re smart,” he said.

“Eloquently worded, Jughead Jones,” she giggled. 

“So… that’s a no-go on the advice then?” 

She laughed and bumped his shoulder as they walked back to the school.

* * *

It was truly Christmas now, the first day of winter had passed and the chill crept in through the old doorways and windows. Jughead and Cynthia’s feet were covered constantly in fuzzy socks and slippers, holiday records playing from the phonograph all day long. The first snow had fallen gently and lightly, dusting the tops of the trees and houses like powdered sugar and every house in the neighborhood glowed with fluorescence as twilight fell.

Even more than that, it felt like Christmas because Cynthia was off of school for two whole weeks. Jughead’s spare time at night was spent ordering Amazon packages to the front door, packages that he wrapped at the kitchen table after she’s gone to bed.

He did other stuff after she went to bed.

“Jughead, we have to wrap presents,” Betty giggled, pushing him off of her as he rested on top of her on the couch, gently and he pushed back just barely, keeping his weight off of her.

He kissed down Betty’s collar bone. 

“So wrap them,” he said simply with a chuckle against her skin.

“I can’t focus when you do that,” she said sternly, wiggling playfully away from him.

“When I do what?”

“Juuug,” she said softly, her name stretched out in her mouth, his ministrations clearly affecting her, her voice sliding down half an octave and losing its edge. He wanted to affect her like that all the time, to lose the inhibitions and give in to what she clearly wanted. 

He wondered if she knew that he hips were moving slightly against his.

“I’ll help you,” he insisted, tugging the nearest box of gifts towards them slowly. 

Her eyes followed his fingers as they slid the present towards them. 

“Juggie,” she said but he could hear how breathy her voice had gone. 

“All of you have to do is…” he whispered against her neck, pulling the collar of her shirt to the side, “Focus.” 

He could feel her body flushing with heat against him. 

“You focusing real hard, Betts?”

“You could say that,” she breathed. 

He nipped at her collar bone and she let out a sound something between a sigh and moan and his pants got tighter instantaneously.

“Tell me what you want” he chuckled against the tops of her breasts.. 

“Juggie, stop teasing me,” she said, wriggling against him, and he did, leaning into her and pulling the cup of her bra down, exposing the peak of her breast and taking it in her mouth. 

“Is this okay?” he asked suddenly, softly, needing to hear her say it again.

She looked at him and smiled a smile like he was trying , her eyes glowing soft from the entry room light. 

“I want you to make me feel good, Jug,” she said softly, running a hand through the back of his hair and throwing shivers all the way down the middle of his spine. “Like you always do.”

Infinitely thankful for an old house with incredibly squeaky stairs that would alert him to any wandering kids, he wriggled Betty’s pants down her hips and leaned in to kiss the heat between her legs. 

* * *

On Friday night, Betty came over for dinner and he proved to her that he actually could cook more than dinosaur chicken nuggets, making a potsticker recipe he found online. To his relief, they turned out well, crisp and salty and decadent in all the right ways.

Cynthia and Betty sat at the kitchen table near him and colored together while he cooked, making pictures that Betty insisted are good enough to hang up on the fridge and the moment warmed all the corners and cracks his heart.

The three of them ate in the formal dining room and Jughead hadn’t realized he’d done it until Cynthia asked why they were eating in there. He struggled to come up with an answer but Betty swooped in and saved the day like it always seemed like she did, saying that she requested it. 

After dinner, Betty tactfully grabbed the plates and told them to go put a movie on, her eyes and her mouth emphasizing every syllable. He knew what she was telling him nonverbally. To suck it up and go tell Cynthia that they were dating even though it felt very much unlike an accomplishable task. 

Sometimes he was felt drunk with the idea of admitting it out loud to his daughter. It felt heavy and metallic in his stomach, acidic and harsh as he had practiced the word to himself. He rationalized that it was unlikely that she would really get it and that years from now she may not even remember these moments, but then the thought made it even harder, the thought that her mom was fading out into a distant memory, something that she remembered only from stories and pictures, not from her own experiences. 

He and Cindy sat on the couch and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, taking a few deep breaths to try to even out his breathing. He saw Betty peeking her head around the corner and he waved her off behind Cynthia’s back until she went back into the other room. 

“Cynthia, can I tell you something?”

She looked up at him, big brown eyes curious and he felt his heart soften, melt a little bit into a puddle in his chest.

“I thought we were going to watch a movie?” she replied questioningly. 

“I just want to… uh, tell you something really quickly,” he stuttered. 

“Well… what is it?” she asked expectantly.

“Do you like Betty?” he decided to go with first.

“Daddy, I thought you were telling me something, not asking me questions.”

“Well,  _ shhh _ , this is - this is part of it!” he replied quickly, wondering where on earth she got all this sass. “Do you like Betty?”

“Well, yeah, duh,” she said, confusion all over her face, playing with the fluff on the pillow Betty had bought him a few months ago. “I mean, duh I like her.” 

“And what would you think if I said I like her too? But… if I like her not like I like friends, but…  _ like _ like.”

He cringed in a way that he was sure everyone could physically see on him, but the words were out now and he had to accept that those were the words he chose to explain his relationship with Betty to Cynthia with. 

“Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?” Cynthia asked frankly.

“Yes,” Jughead replied quickly. 

“Oh,” she said and he couldn’t read her voice, it was bright but surprised and almost a little sad at the edges. 

“Is that okay?”

“Daddy, I already told you I liked Betty,” she said with an eye roll. 

“But is it different if she’s Daddy’s girlfriend?”

“No,” she said, her brow pursing.

“You know I love you, right?” he asked, pulling her into his chest. 

“I love you, too,” she said simply and then, with her voice small, “Is Betty going to be my mommy now?”

“Honey…” he started, grasping for the words. How did he explain to a five-year-old about how he felt about love after loss, about soulmates, about timing and the grand schemes of the universe. Cynthia interrupted his thoughts. 

“It’s okay if she is, I just want to know.”

“She doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want.” 

“I… I think I-”

“You don’t have to decide that now,” Jughead insisted. “And it will always be your choice.”

“Okay,” she shrugged, leaning her head on his shoulder and he waved Betty back into the room and turned on  _ The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. _

Betty sat on the other side of Cynthia and squeezed he hand reassuringly behind Cynthia’s head where she couldn’t see. 

“Was that okay?” he mouthed silently. 

“You did good,” she reassured with a smile and turned back to the movie. 

Archie was flying in the next day and Betty and Jughead took one last evening of alone time, dropping Cynthia with Polly for the night.

They sat at her kitchen table and he sipped a glass of wine slowly as she cooked. Zinfandel, Betty’s favorite, he had learned. He had asked if they wanted to do a gift exchange that night seeing as Betty’s Christmas day plans weren’t exactly solid yet.

“Jughead, you really didn’t have to get me anything,” she said with an eye-roll.

“Well… did you get me something?” he asked unsurely, suddenly aware of how overboard he may have went and how guilty it could’ve made Betty feel. The way that he used to feel when Archie would get him a gift that cost ten times as much as what Jug’s parents could afford.

“Yeah but that’s not the point and-”

“Relax, Betty,” he laughed. “You’re getting a present one way or another. Cynthia picked something out for you too. Something pink and sparkly.”

She laughed and turned back to stirring the sauce. 

He looked around the small and cozy apartment, occasionally asking or answering questions. They were a garland on the TV unit with stockings hanging down as there was no fireplace and all over the place, there were little santas and woodland creatures. Even on the tablecloth in front of him. 

More of all, there was a wreath on her door, decorated with holly berries and sparkling silver leaves and glittered pinecones and it was such a simple thing, probably only cost $30 at Target, but it was the sort of thing that he never had growing up. It was horribly monotonous and the sight of it twisted his throat, the reminder of how beneath her he was, how much baggage he was carrying into this relationship. 

“So… nearly five months in,” Betty said conversationally as she set their plates on the table. 

“Thanks,” he replied quickly, “And yeah. Five months in.”

“How are you liking it?” she asked, taking a bite of bolognese. 

“It still feels weird sometimes, honestly. To think that we live here and have this life and all that and it’s like…”

He could feel her scrutinizing him.

“And?” she prompted

“Like we don’t deserve it.” he admitted.

“Why do you say that?” 

“I mean, obviously I don’t mean,  _ we _ , Cynthia’s a kid, she deserves the world but I mean like… me. I don’t deserve it.” 

“I guess I get that to a certain extent,” she said, pushing the pasta around on the christmas plate, “I feel like I don’t deserve you sometimes.”

His heart swelled with joy and guilt simultaneously. 

“Betty… there’s still part of me that knows who I’ve been. Who knows… what I’ve done and how crummy I can be and all of that.” 

“And that makes you think you don’t deserve to be happy?”

“It makes me think that I don’t deserve to… feel like this. Like I belong here.”

“You belong here just as much as everyone else, Jughead,” she said, pausing to take his hand. 

He looked at her and wondered what color her soul would be. 

Pastel pink like half of her wardrobe? Black like the lace she hid under her clothes?

“This is your home,” she continued, “You know that, right?”

It was like she knew what he needed to hear even before he knew that he needed to hear it. 

“Yeah,” he said with a clearing of his throat. “I know.”

* * *

A couple hours later he drove directly home, having gotten a text from Polly that Cynthia fell asleep and that he could pick her up in the morning and he plopped down on the couch, surfing through channels until a random Christmas movie came up and eventually taking up the rewrapping of presents again and nursing a beer.

It was weird how many emotions the holidays brought up. The times that he and Jellybean went to Archie’s grandparents house for Christmas Eve because his parents were fighting. Bringing in bottles to the recycling center so that he could have money enough to buy JB Dollar Store toys. The times when his heart felt so empty in his tiny apartment with a tiny baby that he felt like his.

It brought up all of the past, all of the feelings of worthlessness and fatigue and it while it was hard to believe that he truly belonged here, it was starting to feel like he did. His ancient house was feeling more and more like home everyday, the predictable light and the creaky stairs. The coffee shop workers knew his name and brought him free refills. He had started talking to the other parents at pickup, not just Betty but her friends and Polly and Polly’s friends and he had gone out with Daniel to a sports bar a couple weeks ago and it all felt like progress. 

Feeling secure like this wasn’t something he’d really ever experienced. He was secure in his home, no eviction notices were going to be stamped on the door. There was food and there were savings for Cynthia’s college should she choose to go and all of it together felt entirely adult and home-y in a way he wasn’t sure he could accept yet. 

The doorbell startled him and he wondered who could possibly be trying to get into the house at this house, this worried thoughts immediately jumping to Cynthia and Betty.

He rushed to the door and threw it open.

"Hey, son." 

On his stoop stood the one and only FP Jones II.


	22. Chapter 22

If it were possible for Jughead’s jaw to be on the floor, it would’ve been fully settled there, resting on the old oak floors of his house as he processed the impact. He felt like a cartoon character, the shock more than he’d ever felt shock in his whole life. 

“Hey, son,” FP repeated and Jughead’s jaw remained glued to the floor. 

“Dad … what are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d surprise my boy for Christmas,” he said proudly, and suddenly Jughead noticed the wrapped presents peeking out from the duffel bag sitting on the front porch behind him. 

“You … you could’ve called,” Jughead said and then realized how rude he sounded, the bitterness seeping up through the shock.  “But, here, c’mon inside. It’s cold out there.”

“I was planning on getting a hotel but-” FP started. 

Jughead did the math quickly in his head. Archie and Veronica in one room, assuming they’d want to share (which was a pretty safe assumption), obviously Cynthia in her own room, Jug in the master, and as long as they didn’t have any more surprise visitors, he could probably scrounge up enough bedding to set up the futon in the office.

“You can stay here,” Jughead assured his dad.  “You’ll have your own room. It’s the office but it’ll work, I think …”

“Well, thanks,” FP said, taking a moment to look around. The sight of his dad in the house made Jughead uncomfortable, suddenly aware that the same feelings of shame of living in a trailer and never having a Christmas tree that he’d grown up with must be mirrored in his dad’s memories too.  “Quite the place you got here.”

“Yeah, we like it a lot, ” Jughead said unsurely. 

“Cindy asleep?” FP asked. 

“Dad, it’s 11:30 pm … yeah, Cynthia’s asleep,” Jughead said with an eye roll, feeling annoyance flare under his skin, the unexpected visit rubbing him in all the wrong ways. In the back of his mind he knew how unwelcoming, how bitter he was being and yet he was having a hard time stopping it. He felt like a petulant child.

So he led his dad into the house and gave him the tour. Told him to help himself to anything in the kitchen, pointed out where the glasses for water were. Showed him the Christmas tree and recounted how they picked the tree and the ornaments out together, decorating it while dancing around the living room..

He found himself leaving Betty out of it, somehow guilty that, despite their not-very-close relationship, someone else had been there for those memories, creating memories that they didn’t have together.

Finally, they got to the office and Jughead pulled a few blankets and pillows out from the closet, hoping they were dust-less and good enough to sleep on.

“Here’s some uh - towels, too,” he said softly, the awkwardness creeping into his voice,  “Bathroom’s across the hall. You’re probably tired but we can talk more tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” FP said hesitantly and in an instant, Jughead saw himself reflected in his father. The unsure, ashamed person that they both held inside, and all of the anger he’d been holding seeped out of him like air out of a balloon, leaving him feeling empty and deflated.

“I’m picking Archie up from the airport tomorrow, and uh, his girlfriend actually. They’re coming for Christmas and … they’ll be happy to see you. Cynthia can come with me, to the airport that is, or she can stay here … or … either way, she’ll be up before I leave.”

“I can get up early and hang out with her,” FP said softly,  “if that’s okay, that is.”

“ Uh, yeah, that sounds good. ”

“I’ll let you get to bed,” FP said.

“ All right. ”

“Good night, Jug,” his dad said softly. 

“Night, Dad.”

Jughead’s head and feet felt like they were full of lead as he walked down the stairs back down to the first floor. There was part of him that wanted to zone out and turn on the TV until he fell asleep but he knew from years gone by that it didn't really help, leaving him with a crick in his neck and fitful sleep.

He walked around the house and tried to find things to clean up. He emptied the dishwasher, put the bottles of wine from the counter back in the cabinet and took the beer from the inside fridge and put it in the fridge in the garage … all without realizing what he was really doing.  He’d forgotten how quickly he snapped back into the patterns of taking care of his dad, the habits from years past taking over his actions before he realized they’d done so.

Finally he sat down at the formal dining table and rested his head against the cool wood, taking a deep breath and processing what was happening. 

Sounds from outside, birds and gentle gusts of wind, came in gently through the cracks in the foundations and suddenly the house,even with its high ceilings and lofting architecture, felt stiflingly small. He pushed open the front door and sat down on the porch as his fingers itched for something, anything that would make him feel a little less off in this moment.

His thoughts, as they often did, wandered to Betty. Betty leaning on him for support. Betty smiling at him over a cup of coffee. Betty in the hotel room in the city, crying about her dad and how messed up her family life had gotten. He thought of how he had held her and how desperately he wished that she were there to hold him too. 

He pressed  “call” and waited on the line until he got her voicemail, sighing dejectedly and hanging up without leaving a message.

Being with her just earlier in the evening felt like lightyears ago. The idea of being in her apartment, before FP showed up, before Jughead had these flushes of emotion and holidays past, seemed foreign. 

She had said earlier that Riverdale was where he belonged and somehow he knew that the feeling he got from those words couldn’t stay, that just when he felt like things were going okay, of course FP had to show up.

In his memories like a ViewMaster that he grew up playing with as a kid, all Jughead could see was the times that he’d celebrated Christmas morning without his dad. When JB was a baby and he sat cradling the little toddler in his arms.

All the times that his dad had celebrated Christmas morning with a bottle of bourbon instead of where he belonged, with his family. 

All the times that they had no Christmas presents because there was no money leftover after the booze budget engulfed other stashes of money, too. 

Jughead kicked angrily at an icicle just as his phone buzzed against the stone steps next to him.

“Hey,” he answered half-heartedly after he saw Betty calling him back. 

“Sorry, I was in the other room. You okay?" she said immediately.

“Uh … I think so?” he said, panicking a little bit on the inside and trying very hard to act like he truly was okay.  “FP, you know my dad, kind of showed up? And may or may not be sleeping on the futon in the office as we speak?”

“ Are you serious? ”

“ As the plague. ”

“Shit …” she said and if nothing else, the sound of her swearing brought a small chuckle out of him. 

“ Yeah, no kidding. Said he just wanted to stop by for Christmas. ”

“ Kind of a long way to come just for Christmas. ”

“He took the bus apparently,” Jughead divulged, shaking his head. 

“ And Archie drives in tomorrow? ”

“They decided to fly in but same difference … don’t forget Veronica, too,” he reminded.

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” she quipped dryly. 

“Full house,” he said, his voice dropping quietly.  “Do you know what you’re doing for Christmas day yet?”

“Polly’s doing Christmas morning with the kids of course but other than that …” Her voice trailed off.

“We still have to exchange gifts, you know, ” he reminded her.

“ Yeah, we do,” she agreed shyly.

“You know you’re welcome here, right?” he clarified, worried that she thought he didn’t want her there, when he most definitely did.  “All day. Everyday. Anytime day or night. Especially Christmas. Cindy will asking about you if you’re not here for at least a little while.”

He again kicked at an icicle with the toe of his socks and instantly regretted the cold that seeped into his bones.

“Well … maybe I’ll stop by then,” she said and he could hear her hesitancy,  “I just … I don’t want you to feel like I’m intruding on your first big, real Christmas. Your family’s in town and it’s the first time they’ll see the house and have the whole thing and I- ”

“ It wouldn’t feel right if you weren’t here, Betts. ”

He could practically hear her blush through the phone. 

“Well if you keep saying things like that, of course I’ll come,” she said, just short of a giggle. 

“You will? ” he said, feeling the excitement bubble up in his chest. 

“If you really want me there,” she said quickly.

“ I most definitely do. ”

“And I can give you my present?” he asked.

“Is that an innuendo?” she giggled.

“With how many people are going to be staying at the house, definitely not,” he chuckled.

They talked for a while longer, and the longer that Jughead heard Betty's voice through the speaker on his phone, the most calm he felt, the more that the feeling washed over him that everything was going to be okay.

* * *

If Jughead had to choose one word to describe the following morning, it would’ve been weird. An incredibly surprised Cynthia. Awkward moments as Jughead moved around the kitchen to make breakfast while FP asked about Riverdale and the house and work and Cynthia's school and a million other things. The impending doom of deciding what to do when he left for the airport.

Really, Jughead felt awkward about the whole situation. Did he insist that Cindy came with him to the airport? Did he insist that she stay? How would FP react to either way? He still felt so blindsided by the visit that he was having a hard time feeling like he could predict anything with any semblance of accuracy.

He walked downstairs after grabbing his jacket and boots and saw something that actually, momentarily warmed his heart: FP and Cynthia sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, reading a picture book together. 

He’d thought it before, but he thought now more than ever that FP was meant to be a grandfather and not a dad. The care he showed for Cynthia, all of the good things, they were always there as long as he didn’t have to do any of the actual caring-for.

“I’m headed to the airport, Cinds,” Jughead called out as he grabbed his keys from the table, pulled his beanie down over his ears and shoved his wallet into the deep pockets of his winter coat. He made his way into the living room and saw Cynthia was hesitating to move. 

“Can I stay here with Grandpa?” she asked, looking up at him with warm brown eyes, full of trust and joy and Jughead had to stop himself from crying, had to stop himself from trying to guard Cynthia from all of the hurt that FP had caused in his life when he was a kid, the disappointment, the letdowns, the pain that was still there beneath all the layers of flannel and beanies.

“Yeah, sure, Cynds,” he said softly, brushing the hair out of her face.  “I’ll be back in a couple hours, okay?”

“Okay! ” She replies cheerfully, urging her grandpa to continue reading the book. 

“There’s stuff in the fridge for lunch. She can have whatever she wants,” Jughead said in Cynthia’s direction for FP’s benefit. 

“I know what to feed kids,” FP defended.

“Okay, Dad,” Jughead replied simply, letting the anger that flared within him simmer.  “I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

* * *

Luckily, the drive to the tiny regional airport took nearly no time at all, but it gave Jughead a well-needed break before the madness of the next few days.

He debated calling JB, but he’d just called a couple days before and she was finishing finals this week. She’d probably be mad that he hadn’t told her, or maybe she knew, or maybe she'd encouraged it, and all the possibilities of his sister's involvement swirled until he had to shake his head to clear it. 

He turned the radio up, as he often did, and lost himself in some Michael Bublé Christmas song until he pulled up to the curb, put the car in park, and hopped out. 

“Jug! ” Archie exclaimed, launching himself off of the ground and onto Jughead, wrapping his legs around him fully. 

“Oof! Arch!” Jughead exclaimed, trying to hold the double weight up and failing miserably as they felt onto the ground in a pile of winter clothes and gangling limbs. 

“Ow,” Archie complained, rubbing his elbow.

“Your own fault but good to see you nonetheless,” Jughead said with a grin, pulling Archie back up to his feet and into a hug. 

“Where’s my goddaughter?” Archie asked immediately.

“At home,” Jughead said simply, avoiding the news that she wasn’t alone.

“Alone … ?” Archie said unsurely and Jughead took the opportunity to ignore him and turn his attention to Veronica. 

Veronica’s entire air was immediately striking and seemingly out of place. While the rest of the world was dusted with snow, the dusty green of pine trees peeking through the landscapes, gray of the sky and clouds thinly veiling all of the colors into muted tones typical of winter, Veronica was decked head to toe in rich, jewel-toned purple and black, from her dark hair all the way down to her heels. 

“I’m Jughead. Nice to meet you,” Jughead said, holding out his hand for her to shake. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m a hugger,” Veronica said, immediately throwing a jingling arm around his neck.  “ I’m also Veronica, but I’m sure you knew that by now. ”

He laughed and admitted that he’d guessed it. 

He watched Archie as they packed up the car, shivering against the chilly wind, noticing how his friend wouldn’t let his girlfriend pick up anything heavy and how the two of them looked at each other like they were looking at the best thing since sliced bread.

It was nice to see Arch like this, albeit not entirely rare. He'd had always been the type to fall in love fast and hard, like he did everything. He got obsessed, spent all his spare time and energy dedicated to one thing and then, mere months later, the excitement wore off and he was off to find his next kick. 

Something felt different about this one, she was looking back at him in the same way, like there was something deeper between the two of them, and Jughead wondered how long they’d really been dating, how long Veronica had managed to keep his interest. 

He was also wondering when the right time was to tell them about his dad and he finally decided that it was then or never. 

“So … you guys still get the guest room, but there’s been another unexpected visitor,” he started, the neck of his shirt feeling uncomfortably tight. 

“Is it Betty?” Veronica squealed from the front seat, turning towards Jughead with clasped hands.  “I’ve heard so much about her and I think we’re destined to be best friends.”

Jughead rolled his eyes at Archie as the ginger gave Veronica a look that said be cool. 

“Uh, not quite as welcome," Jughead said, meeting Archie’s eyes in the rear view mirror,  “It’s my dad.”

Veronica’s eyes flicked back to Archie to register the shock on his face and then it was back to the cool facade, cheerful and confident as ever. Jughead has a feeling that Veronica was smarter than she looked. 

“Well then it’ll just be a little Jones-Lodge-Andrews extravaganza, won’t it?” Veronica said cheerfully, looking out the window and adjusting the pearls that hung gracefully around her neck.

“Well, uh, Betty actually is stopping by as well,” Jughead admitted sheepishly, running his hands through the back of his hair.  “On Christmas Day for a little while at least.”

“Oh-ho-ho!" Archie said, his voice getting louder and louder, patting Jughead with both hands on the shoulders and jostling him a little bit, who couldn’t help but grin at his best friend’s enthusiasm for the new relationship. 

“It’ll be a full house, that’s for sure,” Jughead said darkly as he checked his blind spot to change lanes and turn onto the street towards the house. 

“Why’s FP here anyways?” Archie said, conversationally, but Jug could hear the apprehension around the edges of his voice.

“Said he wanted to visit, who knows what that even means?” Jughead replied and Archie nodded his head in agreement while Veronica stayed silent in the front seat. 

“Well I’m personally very much looking forward to getting to know the whole gang,” Veronica said with a grin that reminded him of the Cheshire Cat.  “I have a feeling it’ll be an interesting one.”

Jughead had to agree and before his thoughts could veer too far in one direction, Archie loudly requested that they stop at Pop’s for lunch.

* * *

On Christmas Eve, they stayed up later than they had in what felt like years and somehow all ended up dressed up, Cynthia in a red and green plaid taffeta dress and white tights, an early present from Veronica who insisted that this was an occasion that they needed to dress up for.

Veronica was somehow an incredible cook and he want thankful that he had some ingredients for food he associated with those holiday specials that they used to show on TV. Originally, he’d had the thought that he’d attempt some of it himself, but after seeing Veronica’s prowess around the kitchen, making a delicious ham, mouth-watering scalloped potatoes, and candied yams, all in her sky-high heels, he was glad that he gave her control and let her do her thing.

She presented steaming plates of rich food on sets of his Target dishes and the five of them ate their late supper and drank sparkling cider and wine until they couldn’t fit one more morsel in their mouths. 

“I’m completely stuffed,” Archie announced as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his stomach and placing an arm around the back of Veronica’s chair.  “Amazing as always, Ronnie.”

“It really was great,” Jughead admitted.  “Best Christmas Eve dinner I’ve ever had by a long shot.”

“Thank you, Veronica!” Cynthia piped up politely, which made Jughead smile and ruffle her hair. 

“Well thank you all,” she said, leaning on her elbows and clasping her hands contentedly,  “I rarely have such a thankful group of mouths to feed.”

Cynthia climbed out of her chair and directly into Jughead’s lap.

“Is Santa really coming tonight?” she asked unsurely. 

“Yup,” FP replied.

“And he brings good children presents?” She asked.

"That's right," Jughead affirmed. 

“Do you think I was good this year?” Cynthia asked shyly, playing with the collar of his shirt, her eyes not meeting his. 

“Well, I think you were pretty good,” Jughead reasoned, "so I think it’s a safe bet that you’ll have at _least_ a few presents under the tree. ”

Veronica giggled behind her hand and Archie shook his head goodheartedly, knowing full-well that there were at least a dozen presents under the tree from the couple alone. 

After a serving of pie and Cynthia’s last Christmas story of the year, everyone headed to bed and Jughead tucked his sleepy daughter into bed. 

As he crept downstairs in the late hours of the morning, the bedroom doors all shut quietly, the house completely silent as he gathered the presents from the shed in the backyard.

He knew that he had spoiled them, everyone really, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help wanting to make this Christmas one to remember, the first real Christmas in their house with some semblance of a full family gathered around the tree.

Veronica and Archie had brought presents too, an abundance of them wrapped in department store bows of chic black and red, arranged perfectly under the tree with elegant script on the gift tags, and Jughead wondered if that was one of Veronica’s strengths, adding thoughtful, beautiful moments wherever she went.

He stuffed his and Cynthia’s stockings with chocolate gold coins, oranges, and peppermint sticks. He set up Cynthia’s new bike, unwrapped but decorated with a bow, posing it so she’d see the helmet in the front basket. He placed the presents for his friends and Betty and Polly and Daniel and the twins and FP all under the tree, the stack growing and growing on top of the presents that everyone else had placed before they went to bed too. 

When he was satisfied, he sat back on the couch and admired the scene, the twinkling lights of the tree reflected in the windows and off the glitter on the wrapping and the ornaments. 

His brain practically finished _not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse_. It was quiet and still and peaceful as he sat on the couch in front of the tree, he felt a calm that he hadn’t felt in years, not being able to help thinking of the times that he’d spent Christmas entirely alone, or with Archie and his dad, a fragmented group of men from broken families. 

Instead this year, there was going to be a home and a full home at that. No studio apartment with no space and even less money to spend on presents, the looming ghosts of his past seeping out from the holes in the drywall and the cracked coffee mugs. There were the beginnings of a family here, even more so when Betty showed up.

Betty with her glowing eyes and contagious smile and goodwill for all. Betty with the way that she made Cynthia laugh and the way she listened and remembered. 

Maybe it would be much different than he imagined this year, with Archie’s girlfriend and Betty and FP all in one house, all in his home, but he had a feeling it might be the best one yet. 

He took one last look at the lights and turned off the final one before heading upstairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for reading... seriously. This has been a long road and I think we're about half a dozen chapters from the end. I've fallen in love with this story and I hope a few of you have as well.
> 
> As always, please leave your thoughts below xx


	23. Chapter 23

Staying up late the night before meant that the next morning was a late one for everyone in his house too, apparently the complete opposite of how Betty’s morning went. When Jughead woke up and rolled over to check his phone, there was a selfie from 6:15 am of her and the twins making funny faces, with the accompanying message “ _ when the kids can’t wait any longer. _ ” He laughed and got out of bed to set the coffee maker before going outside.

Jughead got up before his extra early alarm to clear the driveway, the yard still tinged in blue light from being up before the sun. He pushed the thick powdered snow away from the walking paths with the metaled edge of the shovel, sometimes hitting the pavement when he went too deep and sending a shock up his arm. He shoveled and thought of Betty pulling her sensible four-door sedan into the street on Christmas morning, of her eyes shining and arms full of gifts, of kissing her underneath the mistletoe.

A couple hours and two cups of coffee later, Jughead snuck upstairs and into Cynthia’s room. She was sprawled out half under the covers, her feet hanging off the edge of her bed. He sat on the edge next to her and gently stroked her back until she woke up, sitting up and blinking slowly and rubbing at her eyes. 

“Merry Christmas, Cynds,” he said, pulling the sleepy girl into his lap as she slowly became more aware of her surroundings.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” she said in a sleepy voice as she snuggled into his chest, yawning into the fabric. 

In a selfish way, he wished that he could stay in this moment forever, his daughter in his arms, cuddled up with him in their home while the magic of Christmas morning still hung heavy in the air.

It was one of those perfect moments in his life, the feeling that he’d ached for before he even knew what it was like to be a parent, the desperation that he’d had to feel like he belonged somewhere and to someone. He felt all of that in this moment, the time of anticipation before the opening of presents was gone and the magic dissipated and the realization that everyone in this house cared for him and that life was falling into place. 

Cynthia wasn’t even really awake yet; she hadn’t even realized that there were presents for her yet and still she wrapped her arms around his neck as he held her close. 

Right now in this perfect moment in his slice of life, there was magic hiding in every semi-dusty corner, present in the stillness of the gently falling snow outside, the gifts waiting patiently to be opened, the quiet of the house before everyone woke up and he wanted to stay in this exact place forever.

“You know, Cynthia,” he said softly next to her ear and at the sound of his voice, she looked up at him curiously, “I checked downstairs and there are most definitely presents under the tree.”

Her eyes widened.

“Really?” she asked. 

“Really, really,” he replied. 

“Can we go see?” she said softly, excitement in the edges of her tone.

“Yes,” he laughed and immediately she was up, dragging him down the stairs by his hand.

Veronica and Archie were in the kitchen, leaning on the counter with their faces close nursing cups of coffee in matching robes that Jughead could only assume Veronica had bought them.

“Uncle Archie!” Cynthia squealed, jumping up into his arms.

“Did you see all those presents, Cynds?” Archie exclaimed, scooping her up and resting her on his hip.

“There’s so many!” She said excitedly.

“I think  _ someone’s _ getting spoiled,” Veronica said with a wink in Jughead’s direction. 

Jughead grabbed some more coffee and as FP joined them, everyone sat around the Christmas tree on the various couches and chairs. 

Veronica plopped down in a comfy armchair with a cat-like grin and Archie sat on the floor in front of her, occasionally leaning his arm on her lap as she scratched his scalp with her perfectly-manicured nails. 

Cynthia grabbed their stockings with FP’s assistance and Jughead pretended to be shocked as he opened what was inside, giving in immediately to Cynthia’s request to break into the chocolate first thing in the morning and inside his pocket, his phone buzzed. 

**_Betty:_ ** We’re finished up here… what’s a good time for me to come over?

Jughead looked around the room for a moment and texted back immediately. 

**_Jughead:_** Now. :) 

**_Betty:_ ** See you in approximately 95 seconds then…

And she included a little Santa emoji that made him feel all warm inside. 

He stalled the group as best he could and two minutes later, there was a knock on the door, a knock that made his heart speed up just a little bit.

Cynthia perked up and he had to laugh. 

“Wanna grab that?” He asked her and she nodded excitedly, her feet covered in socks with sprigs of holly on them padding across the wood as she ran around the corner. He could hear the squeak of the door as it opened. 

“Daddy, Betty’s here!” Cynthia called loudly

“Well, hello to you too!” Betty laughed as Jughead came to see them, Cynthia already in her arms and Betty hitching the kindergartener up onto her hip like Archie had minutes before. He realized that Veronica was right, Cynthia really  _ was  _ spoiled.

Jughead came over to them and gave Betty a quick side hug, pressing a kiss to her temple and taking Cynthia from her arms.

“Ew, gross,” Cynthia said quickly, wiggling to be let down.

“All right, all right,” Jughead chuckled, letting Cynthia down and watching her run into the other room before turning his attention back to Betty. 

“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” he said softly, taking her face in his hands and kissing her gently, thanking himself for remembering to brush his teeth earlier.  

“Mmm,” she sighed happily, kissing him again, “Merry Christmas. Nice PJs.”

He looked at her and noticed her slightly puffy eyes, the way that the smile didn’t quite meet the edges of her expression. 

“You okay?” he asked unsurely, rubbing the pad of his thumb on her cheek. 

“I’ll tell you later,” she said softly, pulling away and out of his grasp slowly. 

“Hey,” he said, quickly tugging her back towards him into his arms, hoping to make her feel better, even if it was in the smallest way. 

She smiled softly and leaned into him, resting her head on his chest. He wondered if she could hear his heart beating rapidly under his shirt. 

“I love you,” he said softly, jostling her a little bit to get her to look up at him, and she did as he tucked some hair behind her ear. She looked up at him with big green eyes and when their eyes met, finally the smile reached them, diluted by the sadness there but present nonetheless. 

“I love you, too,” she said, pulling away and giving his hand a squeeze. “But I think you have a daughter who’s been very patient and may or may not need to open a present right this second.” 

He chuckled and agreed, letting her drag him towards the Christmas tree, where the rest of their party was waiting

“Hey, guys, Betty’s here!” Jughead announced to the room. 

Veronica squealed and pulled Betty into a big hug, and Archie and Betty greeted each other again, laughing at the pile of presents and catching up quickly.

“Uh, Betts, this is my dad, FP,” Jughead said slowly, pulling her over a little bit, “And dad, this is my girlfriend, Betty Cooper.”

“Girlfriend?” FP said, his eyebrows raising up nearly to his hairline. “You didn’t tell me about a girlfriend.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones,” she said cheerfully after looking at Jughead for reassurance. She leaned over to his spot on the couch to shake his hand. 

“FP’s fine,” the older man replied, the shock still on his face a little bit, “Nice to meet you, too.” 

He hated his dad for making Betty uncomfortable and he could tell that FP felt awkward, maybe even blindsided, but Jughead was too happy in that moment to care. 

* * *

The six of them, Betty and Cynthia, Jughead and FP, and Archie and Veronica, sat around the Christmas tree on the various couches and chairs he’d pulled in for the occasion and he realized that he hadn’t done this before, the whole bunch of his patchwork family around one Christmas tree for one holiday.

Cynthia was sitting next to him on the couch, somewhat patiently but also bouncing with expectation and excitement after Betty’s arrival and the interruption of their present opening. He had to laugh and pulled her onto his lap quickly to give her a squeeze. 

“Cindy,” he said seriously and she looked back just as seriously, her eyes filled with magic that only the holidays could bring, “You think you can read some names and pass people their gifts? Give everybody one present with their name on it and pick one for yourself too.”

“I can do that,” she said resolutely, his determined little girl, sliding off of his lap onto the ground to carefully select gifts for each person, handing each of them a present gently after asking what letter “grandpa” started with, which got a chuckle out of everyone and launched a discussion about how people had names other than “grandpa” and “dad.” 

The one that said his name, a box about the same size as his fist ended up on his lap and he could tell immediately that it was from Archie and Veronica, who had somehow become a package deal in his head already.

Seeing that everyone had started on their gifts, he pulled the wrapping paper off gently and in the little box sat a wooden ornament painted in red and gold and intricately carved with the facade of a house and on the bottom, a fake scroll that read “Our 1st Christmas in Our New Home.” 

The ornament was heavy in his hand but with its thoughtfulness and meaning, it weighed heavier on his heart. He felt everyone’s eyes on him and despite himself, felt a little choked up at something so quintessentially traditional. 

It was everything that moment.

Their first Christmas in their new home.

Cynthia came over and looked curiously at the ornament.

“Can you read that, honey?” he asked and she did, slowly and word by word and if possible, his heart broke into a thousand perfect little pieces, every single one of them incredibly grateful for his life in that moment. 

He looked up at Betty and held up the ornament so she could see. She beamed, wiping at her eyes discreetly. She’d been a little off all day and seeing her smile meant almost as much as the ornament. 

“It was Veronica’s idea,” Archie glowed. “She said everyone needs special ornaments for their tree.”

He looked at Veronica with disbelief, the fact that she had thought of something that good and thoughtful and flat-out nice on the first time that she met him, and she smiled slyly. 

“I’m glad you like it,” she said simply, leaning triumphantly on Archie’s shoulder. Jughead handed the ornament to Cindy and told her to go hang it on the tree and she circled the pine, looking for the perfect place that it would fit. He had to admire her effort.

They opened the rest of the present slowly and one-by-one; Veronica gifted Betty with an extravagant, designer cashmere scarf with her initials on it. By far the most spoiled of the whole bunch was Cynthia, who sat in the middle of a pile of building blocks, toy cars, baby dolls, and a doctor’s dress-up outfit happily. 

FP opened his first gift from Jughead slowly, like he was savoring it and Jughead supposed that he was. He realized that FP might not have received a whole lot of gifts in his life, and probably not a whole lot in a setting like this, where there were multiple under the tree wrapped nicely with his name on the gift tags. 

“It’s uh… my new book,” Jughead said sheepishly as FP turned the book over in his hand. “Figured you might want a copy. It’s a… collector’s edition or whatever. It’s not even out in stores yet.”

“Who would’ve thunk that my kid would have books in stores?” FP mused before pulling his son into a hug. “Real proud of you, kid.” 

“Thanks, Dad,” Jughead said with a blush. 

Betty got everyone cookbooks and keeping with the trend, spoiled Cynthia incessantly. The little girl opened present after present labeled “from Betty” and somehow it was all things that Jughead didn’t even know she wanted but still got a squeal out of his daughter when she realized what it was. A sled to use out in the backyard. A set of little kids books about famous women, detailing the lives of Rosa Parks and Marie Curie and Jane Goodall and others too. A teddy bear and a charm bracelet from when they went to the city. 

It was weird to look at Betty and Cynthia interacting with the realization that the way Betty cared about Cynthia was different than the way that other people did. It was different than Polly, who didn’t take Cynthia’s misbehaving into her own hands. Different than JB, who ruffled Cynthia’s hair and snuck her ice cream.

Betty genuinely cared about what was best for Cynthia, not just what was easiest for her, which solution would get the best behavior and least reaction. She made Cynthia eat her vegetables and put her dishes in the dishwasher. She helped her sound out words and get through her math problems without getting discouraged, without talking down to herself, and she stayed to help with homework even when he knew that she’d had a thirteen hour work day. She pushed her on the swing and bandaged her scraped knees from the asphalt by the playground at school. 

In all reality, the way Betty cared for Cynthia was the most like Ashley, ever present and supportive and caring. 

Sacrificial, even. 

He met Betty’s eyes across the room and when she smiled as a lump grew in his throat, heavy and thick and sweet like honey in the back of his mouth. 

His eyes kept flicking to her as everyone continued to open presents. His brain was working like an old camera, frame by frame, second by second as she moved in semi-slow motion. 

The way the smile took over her face when she opened Cynthia’s present, a gray sweater with a jeweled collar that the kindergartener had picked up at the mall. The blush that rose up her cheeks when their eyes met at the exact moment that she attempted to sneak another piece of chocolate. She giggled behind her hand then shrugged and took another one, which made him full on chuckle and got a weird look from Archie.

Cynthia had somehow ended up in Betty’s lap on the couch as Jughead watched them from across the room as he poured coffee for the adults. Betty leaned down and whispered something in Cynthia’s ear that made her giggle. Cynthia whispered back and Betty’s animated facial expressions rendered another giggle and a tickle to the side was lighter fluid for the giggles. Betty soon dissolved into them too and whatever they’d exchanged had them peeling with laughter. He watched them for a few moments more, the two of them sitting on the couch with piles of wrapping paper around them

He thought back to one of the times that Archie had visited a few months ago, as the two of them sat on that same couch and talked about second choices and moving on and… soulmates. 

Betty looked up at him and smiled and his heart pounded in his chest. 

_ Soulmates _ , he thought to himself with a shake and he poured more creamer rather than give the recurring thought too much attention. 

* * *

The present-opening slows and Veronica, thoughtfully, grabbed Cynthia’s hand and led her, Archie, and FP into the kitchen to make breakfast, giving him a knowing wink as she left the room.

Betty’s eyes followed the group out of the room but she stayed still in her spot, her gaze snapping to meet his and he could see the worry there beneath the blue of her eyes. 

“You ready to open your presents?” he asked teasingly, hoping to lighten the mood. 

“I’m fairly certain I’ve already been spoiled,” she said matter-of-factly, gesturing to the pile next to her. 

“Never enough spoiling,” he said seriously. 

“Hm,” she replied skeptically.

“We can go to my room if you want,” he said then amending it, “with the door open of course.”

“Of course,” she laughed. 

“Yours are already in there,” he said.

“I’ll grab yours and meet you there?” she asked. He nodded and they split, Jughead to go refill his coffee (three and a half cups just wasn’t enough) and Betty to grab the gifts. 

When she turned the corner to meet him in the bedroom, he took her face in his hands and kissed her firmly. He could feel her holding a two big, stacked boxes between them, the cardboard digging into his stomach. 

“Hi,” she said, clearly a little surprised. 

They sat down on the floor, criss-cross applesauce like he used to in school, like Cynthia did when she wanted to focused on learning words, and he looked at the pile next to her and next to him. 

The pile of gifts for him was significantly larger than the one for her. 

He looked at her skeptically. 

“You go,” she said shyly. 

“What did you do, Betty Cooper?”

“Just open them,” she chuckled. 

So he did.

Both boxes were heavy, almost the same weight and so he went for the one that was on top. 

In the first box was a typewriter, a  _ really _ nice typewriter that went perfectly with his office, the same typewriter that they’d looked at together at the antique shop while in the city and he had to laugh at how similar they were, seeing as she didn’t know it yet, but he’d gotten her a gift that he’d seen her admiring as well. 

“This is… fucking awesome, Betty,” he laughed, pulling it out of the box and smoothing a hand over the shiny black material.

“Do you like it?” she said with a small smile, her arms wrapped around her knees. 

“You got me this  _ and _ something else?”

“It was a… special Christmas,” she shrugged, palms clenched on her.

“It seems like you like to spoil as well,” he laughed and then ripped off the red and gold wrapping from the outside of the second box, revealing a KitchenAid stand mixer. 

“Betty…” he started, knowing how much that an appliance like this cost. He could see the anxiety flick across her face. 

“Is the color wrong?” she asked, looking down at the matte gray worriedly.

“No, it’s, honestly, it’s perfect, this is just… really nice,” he said, still a little floored that she got him something this extravagant. 

“Every kitchen needs one,” she insisted. “Cookies, pies, mashed potatoes. Maybe you’ll actually learn to cook real food, not just chicken nuggets. Plus, you’ll use it for holidays and they last forever.”

“This is… so nice, Betts,” he said, leaning over the massive box to press a kiss to her lips, “You really didn’t have to get me anything and you spoiled Cynthia so much and… ”

“Buying gifts is one of life’s great joys,” she repeated, kissing him quickly. “Honestly, I was nervous you wouldn’t like it.”

“Wouldn’t like it?” he replied incredulously, turning the box over to look at the back. “It’s incredible and definitely, definitely way too nice of you but I guess I should just expect that by now.”

He looked at her and found her looking at the box, sadness creeping into her eyes. 

“Cynthia… seemed to really like baking. I thought it could be a nice thing for you two to do together,” she said wistfully, running her hand along the picture on the box. “Those are the kinds of things that kids remember forever. Making cookies with their dad.”

“You’re… incredible, Betty,” he said seriously, taking her hand in his own. “Seriously. You’re amazing.” 

She blushed and kissed him fully this time, their fingers intertwining as their lips met. 

“You ready to go back into the kitchen now?” she asked abruptly, balling up the wrapping paper and moving to leave the room. 

“Are you kidding me?” he said seriously. 

“What?”

“You haven’t opened your gifts yet.”

“Oh,” she said with a blush. “I forgot.”

“No, you didn’t,” he laughed, pushing a small pile of presents towards her. 

She opened the long, flat one first, a wrapped first-edition of her favorite book,  _ Beloved _ . Her eyes filled with shock and she turned the book over in her hand, looking at the back and touching the binding tenderly. 

“I don’t deserve this,” she said honestly, her voice falling a little bit, the space between her eyebrows creasing deeply. 

“It wasn’t even that expensive and-”

“It’s not about the money, Jughead,” she interrupted. “It’s about… the fact that you listened to me. That you saw me admiring this in the city…  _ weeks _ ago and how you remembered.”

“And it’s any less amazing that you did the same one?” he asked incredulously.

“Well… no, I guess not,” she said unsurely, a crease between her brows.

“Okay well open the next one,” he said, suddenly starting to feel uneasy. 

She looked at him questioningly and took the small box into her hands. 

“Jughead Jones, what did you do?” she said suspiciously, slowly opening the box. 

He watched her face with intense attention as the inside was revealed. There, in a box emblazoned with Harry Winston, sat a pair of tastefully tiny diamond stud earrings. 

Betty’s jaw dropped and instantly her eyes filled with tears. 

“What is this, Jughead?” she said, her voice tinged with sadness, and then she repeated the question with a slight aggressive edge to her voice. 

“Well,” he said confusedly, getting the impression that this wasn’t going off very well, “you always wear the little ones and you told me one time that they weren’t… I figured you’d like some… other ones?” 

Her lips still parted, she looked down at the earrings and then up at him. There were a million emotions flashing over her face and despite all of that, all he could feel radiating off of her was confusion. She looked angry and guilty and sad and at the end of it all, her eyes filled with tears.

“I really don’t deserve you, Jughead Jones,” she said seriously, her voice choked.

“Hey, hey, hey, Betty, what’s wrong?” he said suddenly, scooting towards her and taking her hands in his own. 

“This is… too much. Way too much,” she said tightly, like she was trying to stop herself from sounding emotional. 

“No, baby, no it’s not,” he insisted, using the pad of his thumb to wipe the tears away. 

“And…” she started before waving her hands and handing the book and jewelry box back to him, “I just don’t deserve this. It’s too nice.”

“Betty, stop,” he said, slightly angry that she was doing this right now. “Take the gifts.”

“I don’t deserve it,” she cried and in that same moment, she was breaking down completely in front of him. It took a second for him to process how much hurt was radiating off of her, soon he scooped her into his arms and pulled her onto his lap, her legs wrapping around his hips and her hands gripping the flannel of his shirt. He could instantly feel the hot tears on his neck and he pulled her closer.  

“Yes, you do, what are you talking about?” he asked sadly, rubbing her back and rocking her gently. 

She said nothing and he asked her again, trying to make his voice as soft and understanding as possible, attempting to urge it out of her.

“Baby, you gotta talk to me,” he said softly, kissing her temple and smoothing her hair. 

“My dad went to jail today,” she blurted out suddenly, her voice choked and quiet, barely above a whisper. 

He could feel his heartbeat in his ears and wrists and whatever explanation he was expecting, that wasn’t it. 

“Today? ” he tried to start and the words got lost in his throat. 

“Late last night,” she replied, her voice small and scared and he felt his heart break into a million pieces in the worst way this time. “Christmas Eve.”

He searched her face for some sort of indication of what she wanted to say and he came up blank. He took his hand in hers and rubbed her thumb with his, still looking in her eyes for a clue.

“I… Are you… okay?” He asked, immediately cringing and regretting the stupid question.

“Not really,” she sniffed.

“Is there something I can-”

“What if I’m just like him?” she cried and his heart broke even further, guilt gnawing at him and the back of his throat feeling impossibly thick.

“Baby, you’re not like him,” he said softly, scooting towards her. 

“What if I am?” she sobbed. “What if it’s hiding inside of me? In my genes? What if the nurture side of me has it too?”

“Betty,” he said firmly, taking her face in his hands and then her whole body in his arms. “You’re the best person I know, okay? The very, very best person.” 

“And if I’m not?” She cried. “If I’m broken and messed up-“

“We’re not our parents, Betty,” he said sternly, “Look at me.” 

She looked up at him with an expression that felt like a pang in his stomach. 

“You’re a good person, you understand me? Such a good person. You’ve got to believe me. You’re allowed to feel and this sucks and… it does, it sucks but … you aren’t a bad person, okay?”

She nodded and leaned into his chest, crying against his shirt in earnest now. 

Archie walked in behind her back and Jughead waved him off.

“I’m sorry I’m like this I just-”

“Betts,” he interrupted. “I already told you it’s okay.”

She buried her face into his shirt and avoided eyecontact. 

“Hey,” he said sternly, “Look at me.” 

She looked up at him finally, wiping the tears from beneath her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater. 

“Remember when we went to the city?” he asked softly, rubbing a thumb on the apple of her cheek.

“Yeah,” she replied smally.

“And remember when I kept stopping our… activities, because I wanted to talk?”

“Mhm.” 

“And do you remember what I said?”

“You said a lot of things,” she chuckled sheepishly, tugging on a spare thread on his sleeve and his heartstrings too. 

“I said I was all in,” he said seriously, tilting her chin up towards him, “and that means that no matter what, if you’re dealing with something then… then I am too. That means no matter what, no matter what’s going on with your family, we’re going to get through it. Okay? I’m… I’m all in.” 

She dropped her head to rest on his chest and sighed big a deep and then snuggled up to him on the floor of his bedroom, the floorboards creaking beneath them and he wondered how he got so lucky today, getting to hold his two favorite girls like this. 

He scooted back and leaned against the footboard of the bed and she cuddled into his side.

“I’m sorry I got so upset,” she said against his shirt. 

“I already told you not to be sorry,” he said sternly. “This is what we do, okay? Our lives are shit sometimes and that’s why we have each other.”

Her eyes met his and she nodded and gave him a small smile before leaning back into him.

“I’m really sorry, Betty,” he whispered against her hair. 

“Me too,” she said softly, kissing neck gently, the place where her tears had dried against his skin, and then she looked up at him in a way that made his breath catch in the back of his throat, smoothing the hair on his forehead. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you either, honestly,” he said, rubbing small circles on her back. “It’s like… everything’s better, better and easier when you’re around. It’s like… you’re… strong and courageous and caring and it makes me stronger and braver and… just better, you know?”

He looked down at her to see fresh tear tracks down her face. 

“Why are you crying?” he asked, alarmed. 

“Happy tears,” she clarified quickly with a wet laugh. 

“Happy tears?”

“You are…,” she sniffed, “you are a catch, Jughead Jones.” 

* * *

“Would’ve been nice to know about your girlfriend,” FP said back-handedly as Jughead flipped a piece of french toast later in the kitchen.

“I… it’s pretty new,” Jughead said sheepishly. “I only just told JB.”

“Archie’s knows her though.”

Jughead tried not to roll his eyes at his dad’s tone. 

“Yeah, she flew him out here for my birthday,” he replied coolly. 

“Wow…” FP replied, eyes wide. 

“She’s the best, really,” Jughead said matter-of-factly. 

“Well, good for you, son,” he replied quietly. “You… you deserve someone like her.”

“What do you mean?” Jughead asked, feeling like he was prying or fishing for compliments or something, but he didn’t really care. FP could deal. 

“She’s… nice,” FP started with, and then looking over at the living room where Betty and Cynthia were playing with one of her new games, “and she’s good with Cynthia and she obviously cares about you a lot.”

“Don’t know what I did to deserve it,” Jughead muttered, piling another piece of toast on the serving plate. 

“I’ve said the same thing about myself,” FP said feebly, his voice tight and Jughead froze in the middle of his action. “What I did to deserve you and Cindy in my life. Not a whole lot I guess, but… there must have been something.” 

Something stirred inside of Jughead, deep in the pit of his stomach, a mix of anxiety and sadness and hope for the future. The nerves of knowing that this is something that could go away, this present, caring version of his dad. The anger and bitterness from all the years of disappointment and resentment and recurring issues, drugs and alcohol and homelessness.

The hope burned stronger than everything else combined. 

He turned to look at his dad quickly and saw FP deep in thought, regret masking every feature of his face. 

“Guess we aren’t that different,” Jughead replied quietly. 

FP looked up and gave him a small smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hate to say it, but I think that this story is coming to a close within a few chapters... I never, ever thought that it would get to 75k and I have a feeling it'll be around 85-90k when it's done, but in the grand scheme of this, that's pretty close to being done. 
> 
> Any guesses for the next few chapters? Remember, we still have the aftermath of Betty's Christmas Eve and Archie/Veronica's visit...
> 
> tumblr: quirksandcaffeine


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "After the Christmas magic had worn off and Cynthia was put to bed, after the adults snuck into their own rooms to have a moment to themselves after too many glasses of champagne and too many laughs and Jughead was stuck by himself, he found himself lamenting the loss of Betty’s presence. She kissed him chastely on the lips, her cheek cold against his lips as he pecked her one last time, and he walked her back to Polly’s house down the street, holding hands and bracing themselves against the cold."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's not talk about how I didn't update for nearly three months and y'all just trust that I was real busy. Haha - enjoy!

After the Christmas magic had worn off and Cynthia was put to bed, after the adults snuck into their own rooms to have a moment to themselves after too many glasses of champagne and too many laughs and Jughead was stuck by himself, he found himself lamenting the loss of Betty’s presence. She kissed him chastely on the lips, her cheek cold against his lips as he pecked her one last time, and he walked her back to Polly’s house down the street, holding hands and bracing themselves against the cold.

The snow from the morning had melted from the warmer than usual afternoon weather and then, like some sort of late evening Christmas miracle, it had started snowing again as the sun went down. The flurries barely stuck on the tops of the trees and the two of them stomped through the sludge down the street, trudging along in their heavy boots through something of a mix of snow and mud.

He watched her as they walked home, her face getting lighter and darker again and again as they passed under the street light spread out between every second house. She was barely wearing any makeup but the only way that he could tell any difference from normal was the color of her eyelashes; they weren’t as dark as normal and somehow she was still glowing in the low light and crummy weather.

A bad thought flooded through his mind, the thought that she had cried off all of her makeup throughout the day after the bad news, thinking of when she told him about her dad and the way that it made her heart hurt.

After that he watched her more closely.

“But Christmas morning is just so magical, you know?” she continued as he half-listened and nodded. “Especially with kids.”

He watched her as she talked about the twins and how she’d loved seeing all the kids happy that morning, the way that their eyes lit up as they opened their own presents and watched others open the ones they’d bought. He saw the way that the lines around her eyes loosened and her voice got lighter.

His eyes followed the line from her earlobe to the curve of her neck, down to where her top teeth were biting into her bottom lip. There was something like a small, lightish hickey on her skin behind her ear, a place that he’d stolen a few open mouth kisses in the kitchen earlier. Somehow she was just as sexy in Christmas pajamas and loungewear as she’d been on that night in the city, twinkling underneath the skyline with her plunging neckline and makeup rimmed eyes.

He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back with a grin. The sight made him swell up inside.

“Wait,” he said quickly, stopping them in the middle of the sidewalk.

“What?” she asked curiously, watching his hand as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tugged a glove off with his teeth to touch the screen with a bare finger. She looked down at his hands curiously.

“You’re going to get frostbite,” she teased, bumping her shoulder into his.

“I wanna send you this before I forget,” he laughed, pressing send and hastily shoving his glove back on his hand.

“What is it?” she asked, pulling her own phone out and opening the message.

( _She’s smart,_ he thought to himself, _with her tech gloves and toasty fingers._ )

She pursed her lips together as she tried to stop her smile.

“This is so cute,” she gushed slightly as she saw the picture, looking up at him through blonde eyelashes.

It was a photo of her and Cynthia; his daughter snuggled up on Betty’s lap as they looked at one of the books she’d received as a gift together.

“You like it?” he grinned sheepishly, tugging his beanie down further on his head.

“I… yes,” she settled on, smiling shyly.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said shyly.

“C’mon,” he laughed, bumping her shoulder with his.

“We haven’t really talked about all of… _that_ ,” she replied thoughtfully after a few moments of silence, her brow furrowed slightly. “About… Cynthia and… I know you told her we were dating but, you know that I don’t want to cross any lines with all of it and—”

“You’re not crossing any lines,” he assured her quickly.

“You’d tell me if I were, right?” she asked unsurely.

“Of course, but I don’t think you could. She loves spending time with you and you make her happy, why wouldn’t I be okay with that?”

“With Polly and Daniel…” Betty started and then shrugged, “it was just different I guess. My mom was so possessive of the twins. If they weren’t family, she didn’t want them near the babies. And they were actually babies, it’s not like they would’ve remembered if someone that they met once left their life… but Polly was hesitant too. Like, protective in a way. And I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me if I do something inappropriate.”

“Betts,” he said, feeling the need to pause in the middle of the street, so he did. “That’s not what this is. You’re not some person who she met once. You know her, she knows you and—”

“All the more ways that I can leave a hole if…” she struggled for the words and then shrugged in an attempt to be nonchalant, “if something happened when I wasn’t in her life in the same way anymore.”

“Do you plan on that happening?” he laughed, the idea seemed absurd and then the reality of it sobered him a little bit.

“Well, no,” she said with a blush. “But who knows what you’re thinking?”

An overwhelming surge of emotion rushed over him, an irresistible desire to show her how he felt.

“Betty Cooper, I love you,” he said, taking her face in his hands.

He pressed a kiss to her lips that quickly escalated and a few long moments later, he pulled away reluctantly, taking a deep breath to calm the fire stirring inside of him, resisting the urge to adjust his pants around his crotch.

“I love you, Jughead Jones,” she said after her lips were unoccupied, pulling her hands away from the lapel of his jacket where they’d been gripped. Her eyes looked rather dazed, blinking a little too slowly and then a little too quickly.

Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her mouth slightly parted after his kiss and he wanted nothing more than to be able to get her alone in that moment, to make her feel good, to show her how much he cared about her.

But it wasn’t the time or the place to show her physically all that he felt, so he chose words instead.

“I will tell you on the very, _very_ off chance that something changes but… I’m all in, remember?” he said softly.

She kissed him firmly again, his face in between her gloved hands.

“Thanks for that,” she said, pressing a peck of a kiss to his lips again, quickly. “The pep talk and the picture.”

He looked down at her, barely visible in the light and felt the ache of having to leave her. It was probably stupid how needy he felt leaving her for even a few hours but it made his stomach hurt a little bit to think about. He wanted to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her and—

“I wish you didn’t have to go home,” he said gently as they resumed walking again, taking her hand back in his own again.

“Well I’m going to Polly’s, not home, so…”

“You know what I mean,” he replied with a chuckle and an eye roll.

“Yeah,” she laughed, “I do.”

“I just… think about the city a lot,” he said quietly and she looked up at him with soft eyes and a bite of her bottom lip, “waking up next to you. Having breakfast and coffee together.”

“We have coffee together all the time,” she reminded with a glowing smile.

“Again,” he said with a sarcastic eye roll, “you know what I mean.”

“Again,” she replied quickly as she squeezed his hand, “yes, I do.”

“We’ll have to do that again sometime,” he mentioned, trying to sound nonchalant and casual. She raised her eyebrows at him like she knew his secret, her eyes skeptical, and he shrugged, his shoulders eating his ears as he blushed. She pulled him close to her and leaned in until her lips were inches away from hers.

“Well, we’ve had _some_ repeat activities,” she said, the edges of her voice dripping in suggestion.

“Not that those…” He coughed as his heart sped up. “... activities, weren’t a really, and I mean really _, really_ great way to pass the time, but I’m serious.”

“I know, Juggie,” she said, kissing him softly. “It was great for me too.”

“Not just the party I hope.”

“The afterparty was my absolutely favorite,” she practically purred. A shiver went down his spine and he pulled her closer.

“So… you’d be willing to do that again?” he asked.

“I mean pretty sure we’ve already-”

“The weekend I mean.”

“Only if I get to plan it.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” she laughed, her voice twinkling.

“I do not,” he said mock-innocently.

“No more spoiling me,” she said, pointing her finger at him. He took it jokingly between his teeth and shook gently. She pulled it out of his mouth and pointed it accusingly at him again, laughter dancing in her eyes.

“Remember when you pulled off the whole birthday surprise?”

“Yes,” she replied proudly.

“Think of it like that,” he said, flicking the tip of his finger against her earlobe where her new earring sat, “I’m making absolutely no promises.”

She grinned and pulled him close, snuggling into his neck for a few more stolen moments.

On the short walk back to his house from Polly’s, he risked the cold and changed his phone background to the picture of his girls sitting on the couch on Christmas morning.

* * *

The break between Christmas and New Year’s passed quickly in a flurry of frantically trying to catch up on work and Jughead missed Betty and his family terribly.

Everyone had headed back home, away from the picturesque tranquility of Riverdale, which had been something out of a picture book, the smiling, happy family around the dinner table while a ham baked in the oven and wrapping paper lying in abandoned piles around them.

There was still tension brewing underneath his surface, the weird visit from FP and a million other intricacies that he didn’t feel like picking apart when he was still so stuffed full of Veronica’s leftover food.

He passed the time by doing everything that he could think of with Cynthia, putting away the Christmas decorations with an actual, grown-up organizational scheme. The two of them went ice-skating and dressed up in all of her new costumes, reading bedtime stories until way past her when she should be awake.

He spent the rest of the nights working, fueled by feelings the holidays had stirred up, the resentment and the broken (in a good way) expectations.

He settled back in his creaky desk chair, pulling his hat off of his head and running his fingers through his hair, thinking back on his days like he often did, finding himself drowning in the memories of all the years past.

Sometimes his thoughts were preoccupied with family and sometimes that turned into all he could think about was all the ways that his upbringing could fuck Cynthia up. Sometimes he thought about friendship and Archie and Toni and maybe now it’d include Veronica and Polly.

Lately, he’d been thinking about love. Or maybe he’d always been thinking about love and had successfully tried to force himself to write about murder, about mystery, about death

He’d had crushes and even been in love before, _deeply_ in love before. Thinking of himself at 18 years old and in the throes of his first love made his head hurt, how differently he thought his life would go and how starkly contrasted his current situation was with what he’d expected.

He knew that people fell in love multiple times, that you could fall in love again and again and it was somehow always as great and painful and amazing as it was the first time. He remembered all of it like something deep in his bones, the way his heart thumped in his chest, the way his hands got sweaty when he wanted to say ‘I love you’ for the first time, that hanging moment in frozen time before their lips met in their first kiss.

There was proof that people fell in love multiple times in every aspect of his life, proof that people fell in love more than once. He’d seen Archie, falling head over heels time after time, each time with more vigor and less reservation, determined to be hopeful and loyal despite the heartbreak. He’d seen his dad, stumbling through relationship after relationship, looking for some foothold of stability. Jughead had been in the position himself, stuck somewhere between dysfunctional and desperate and looking anywhere he could for some sort of semblance of family, for something to make him feel whole again, to ease the ache of all his past traumas, the nightmares of his childhood.

He’d found a refuge and distraction in Ashley and that relationship was everything that he’d needed at the time. Something that matched his fire. Someone who helped dampen it when their responsibilities became greater, who reminded him where they’d been and encouraged him to be better. He needed someone that had the same background, who understood why everything seemed messed up and why his behavior reflected that. He needed someone who understood why he had trust issues, why it was difficult to change sometimes.

But now he was older, and the fire had dampened even further, even more than Ashley had encouraged in the beginning. He wondered if it could be chocked up to being a parent or getting older or just different seasons of life, but what he wanted right now more than anything, what he _needed_ right now more than anything, was for Cindy to be happy, and now there was another added level: he need Betty to be happy too.

It made him feel like a sappy idiot, sitting at his desk well after midnight and thinking about how stupidly in love he was with a girl he’d met five months ago. She’d wiggled her way into his heart, blonde ponytails and pastels, sparkling like sunshine into every broken piece of his  and putting him back together like glue.

Every bit of him just wanted her to be happy. Like he’d change nearly anything in his life, save Cynthia, in order for her to feel better.

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, in his mind, that he’d be okay without Betty. That if they broke up, he’d eventually make the pieces she’d glued back together whole again, that he’d push through, have the coping skills to live a life without her. He’d been through enough in his life to have faith in that at the very least. He’d always be okay eventually, even when it felt like the world was ending.

It was weird, because there were so many times when he and Ashley almost broke up that he felt like he wouldn’t make it through, like the world was ending at the idea of them breaking up, and then she was gone for real and he was dealing with the reality of everything. Bills, baby, books, the whole lot thrown together into a blender in a weird concoction he now had to choke down.

He’d gone through a lot of things in his life. Homelessness, parents with addiction, abandonment, gang relations, violence… grief. And he’d come out on the other side with a general understanding that there was a whole lot of shit that he could go through.

He knew he’d be okay without Betty and still… something twisted in his chest at the thought of not having her. Of not being able to be the one to comfort her when things went wrong in her life, of not being able to kiss her and listen to her voice and simply be in her presence. He wanted to spend every waking second with her, having flashes of waking up next to her in the morning, making her coffee and breakfast. Of her reading Cynthia bedtimes stories and then sneaking under the covers with him.

It still felt scary to need someone.

Planning another weekend something away was something that had been on his mind since nearly they’d been back. It was hard around this time of the year, when Cynthia’s activities picked up in the spring and his family had birthdays and his book provided certain obligations and he knew all of that must be mirrored in Betty’s life, the particular aspects of pseudo-motherhood that she’d picked up from Polly and realistically, him too. The baseball and softball games, the

The more that he thought of her the more that he felt an indescribable itch for her, twisting and curling inside of him as his hormones raged like a teenagers. Late at night, hunched over his desk, Jughead itched to see Betty in ways that were decidedly adult.

He pulled out his phone to send her a text and noticed his phone had been on silent, a message from Betty already sitting on his phone from a few minutes earlier.

 **B:** Is it stupid that I miss you and it’s only been 24 hours?

 **J:** No because I was just about to text you the same thing…

 **B:** Wow… lol. We’re corny.

The more that they’d texted, the more that he could read the way that she interacted with him. A ‘lol’ was a simple giggle, a flat out ‘haha’ was her legitimately laughing, the longer the string of letters went meant she was laughing more and more.

 **J:** I can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about you.

And he couldn’t, couldn’t stop thinking about her and couldn’t stop the way that where his thoughts were going made his pants a little tighter. She replied quickly, immediately almost.

 **B:** How’s that?

He tried not to think of her in her apartment, snow blowing outside as she lounged around. Maybe she’d stolen his tee shirt or was wearing something like the pajamas the other day, leaning in bed or snuggled under the covers.

 **J:** Ways I can’t say over text…

There was a pause of a few minutes longer than it’d been before, moments when he could see the typing icon from her end of the phone and then silence, typing and then silence.

Eventually, a message came through.

 **B:** You’re going to be the death of me, Jughead Jones.

His fingers were desperate for the feeling of her skin beneath his fingers, for the taste of her neck on his lips.

 **J:** Gladly.

 **B:** Is Cynthia asleep?

 **J:** Yup.

More minutes passed.

 **B:** I’m outside.

He looked down at his phone, shocked in all sorts of ways.

 **J:** Are you serious?

 **B:** You’re lucky I was only a three minute walk away.

He rushed down the stairs his flannel pajama pants and his tee shirt as quickly as he’d ever moved and threw open the door to find Betty on the front porch.

“Jesus, Betty,” he laughed, pulling her in quickly, “it’s fucking freezing.”

“I don’t care,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck with glee-filled, “I had to see you.”

“You did?” he gulped.

“You were driving me crazy,” she said softly, her bottom lip between her teeth.

He kissed her.

“Kitchen,” he muttered and when she nodded he picked her up by the ass and carried her to the back of the house, setting her down on his kitchen island, careful to put her down gently as the room was still dark and he could hardly see.

“ _Well_ then, Mr. Jones,” she giggled, nibbling on his ear lobe. “Who knew you were so strong?”

She looked a little goofy, her thick jacket and her thin shirt and patterned pajama pants, snow boots kicked off onto the floor in front of her but then she motioned to him with come hither eyes and he nearly melted into a puddle, a little puddle of lust and love and pure desire for her.

“Off,” he said, tugging on her coat and she obliged him instantly, throwing it gently on the counter opposite from them.

It was then that he noticed her shirt, which was even thinner than he had originally thought it would logically be, practically see-through under just the the distant glow from the plugin night light in the opposite corner and the way the entryway light came through the hallway.

The idea of her being so rushed to see him that she wore this particular ensemble outside made him all sorts of rowdy.

“I need-”

“Me too,” she gasped.

He dragged his nails light as a feather down her back under the thin layer of her shirt and she shivered against him, her body pressing against his chest as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled his crotch fully against her core. She trailed her tongue down his neck, sucking on his pulse point, and he could feel his heartbeat against her lips as she tenderly kissed it, still rubbing herself against him.

“Fuck, Betts,” he growled, his mouth drawn to her neck and her collarbone instantly wanting to repay the pleasure tenfold. He tugged on her hair and she gasped lightly, almost imperceptible, but he heard it and felt it, the way that her nipples hardened against him through her thin shirt, how she moved continually into his touch, how her energy was practically buzzing for him.

He wanted to taste her and he gave in to his own desires, sucking her neck, trying to show her how much he missed her with every mark of her neck. She rolled her hips against him on the counter, and he moaned into her neck, taking her jaw in his hand and pushing her head up, giving him more access to the soft skin of her neck and eliciting a moan from her pouty lips.

She was breathing heavily now and he could tell he was as well, the way that he heart was beating in his chest so loud that it felt like it was reverberating all around the whole room. Her hand wandered down his chest towards the waistband of his pants and stroked him gently. Her lightest touch, even in the loose pajamas, had him struggling against them.

He wanted to make her feel like he felt, reckless and desperate for her.

He reached down into the front of her pajamas suddenly, running his fingers along her quickly before pushing one inside her.

“God, Juggie,” she gasped, her eyes going a little hazy and he grinned with a little flare of power, the feeling that maybe he was getting her like she’d always had him.

“You’re so wet, Betts,”

“I’ve wanted you all day,” she said softly, in a moment of tenderness, kissing him chastely.

The moment ended when he slid another finger inside her.

She gasped for breath as he ran his fingers down her side and gripped her hipbone, the fingers digging slightly into the bone there. She squirmed underneath his touch and he could feel her winding up, the coil inside of her tightening, tensing.

“I’m getting close,” she said quickly, hopping off the counter.

“But-” he started.

“I need you right now.”

A million ways he’d like to have her flashed through his head and finally he went with the one that got him inside of her the quickest.

“Turn around,” he mumbled, the reality of the idea clouding his brain, and she did as he had suggested, turning to face the counter. When he ran his hand up her back slowly, she got the message, leaning over. She turned back and winked, moving her hips from side to side gently.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Betty Cooper,” he said, palming himself.

“Good way to go,” she laughed quietly.

He gripped the waistband of her pants and the lacy something underneath, pushing them down in one go. The sight of ther, the curve where her ass met her lower back and the grin on her face, made him groan and the need to be inside her was too desperate to resist now.

“Oh my god, Betts,” he groaned.

“I told you — been wanting you all day,” she gasped again and he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple as he slid inside of her.

They gasped simultaneously.

“You feel so good,” he said, running his hand down her front to rub at her clit, knowing that he couldn’t last long even if he used every ounce of energy left in his body. If she finished, he'd be soon after.

“God, Jughead,” she moaned.

He was convinced that if nothing else, her little moans and gasps could get him there. The way that she looked back at him, how she put her hand over his on the side of her hip, her fingers grasping onto his desperately.

When they were together like this, he felt complete. It was like the missing piece of her was suddenly part of him. The way he slid inside of her and she clenched around him. Every movement of her hips that made him gasp, every perfect sound out of her mouth and the way her blue eyes looked at him like she was rocking his world. The way she stood on her tiptoes to make the angle better, lifting onto her arms and gasping, begging for more.

He could tell she was getting close; every passing moment became more and more intense, her breathing heavier, her body faster. Her eyes were half-closed, her mouth slightly open, her hips moving faster against his fingers, everything about her asking for more.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered when she seemed right on the edge and that did it. She clenched around him, her body propped up on her elbows and his ears rang as he tumbled suddenly over the edge, spilling inside of her with a groan.

He collapsed against his hands, pushed up against the kitchen counter and for a moment they stood there, breathing heavily with shaky legs and pounding hearts.

Then she turned back and looked at him with sleepy eyes and a wide, tired grin and his heart exploded into a million pieces.

He wanted to trade every shitty moment of his life for this one, basking in Betty’s afterglow after he fucked her in the kitchen. It felt like all would be right with the world if he could just continue having days like this, when she showed up unannounced to his house in her pj’s so he could take her on the counters.

“I love you,” he said, snuggling into her neck and kissing it over and over until she giggled breathlessly.

“Mmm,” she sighed happily. “I love you, Jughead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. what'd y'all think? I have about three chapters left worth of stuff planned... but we'll see.


	25. Chapter 25

January slipped and slid through his fingers like sand in a sieve, trickling and ticking consistently despite his attempts to slow it down and February nearly did the same before he even noticed, the momentum of the year sweeping him away. 

The weather had been all over the place in true winter form. It snowed and thawed, froze over and repeated itself every week. Jughead made it a point to get Cynthia outside as frequently as he could, walking around the neighborhood hand in hand whenever the sun was shining, trying to stop her from pulling him all the way down the sidewalk with her skipping and hopping all over the place.

School had started back up too, and with that, Cynthia’s routine had resumed. All of the late nights of Christmas break became his instant regret but he gave himself some slack, chalking it up to a first-time parent thing, the ignorance of a dad who just couldn’t know any better. She was grumpy when she went to bed and grumpy in the afternoon and sometimes she really got on his nerves in ways he couldn’t describe but then she’d come over and sit in his lap and rest her head on his shoulder and say she was sleepy in the cutest voice he’d ever heard and he knew that he’d do it all over again, the late nights and the junk food and the lack of real sleeping schedule, if she just stayed this happy for her whole life. 

The last few minutes of the year ended in the same way it had begun, with Jughead and Cynthia alone as just the two of them. They blew into plastic horns and popped too many confetti poppers all around the house, leaving Jughead to clean up into the wee hours of the morning even when Cindy had tapped out and gone to sleep. 

The Coopers went on a family holiday for New Year’s, embarking on a road trip to visit their family in the next state over. Jughead missed Betty with an ache in his heart and a pit in his stomach, trying not to think her in everything he looked at, but it was hard when she had bought him his favorite coffee cup and when the Christmas tree that he had yet to take down was picked out and decorated by her too. 

When he couldn’t focus on work he found his thoughts wandering to thoughts of Betty in their house. He found himself looking down at his phone background constantly, wishing that she were sitting at the table across from her, wishing he could just reach his hand across the wood to hold her hand. Her pink cashmere sweaters hung next to his leather jackets and her snow boots next to his sneakers. The coffee that he’d make her in the morning and bring her in bed. He imagined the smile that’d make its way across her face when he did that, the one that seemed especially reserved for him when she felt like he was spoiling her.

But eventually, all holidays had to end and she was finally, finally home. She texted while Jughead was sitting at the table with Cynthia, helping her sound her way through some of the words he hoped she hadn’t forgotten over her break from school.

**B:** You guys home? I’m dropping the twins off at Polly’s. 

He texted back quickly that she was more than welcome to come over and tried to put the dishes away, finally giving up when he realized she’d seen the house in worse conditions, seen him in worse conditions and gave up and tried to clean up his daughter instead. He fixed Cynthia’s ponytail as she protested, kissing the side of her head even as she squirmed and giggled, knowing that the door would swing open any second and a moment later, it did.

“Who’s that?” Jughead asked, laughing at how wide Cynthia’s eyes got as she heard Betty’s voice calling her name from the entryway.

“Betty!” Cynthia exclaimed, jumping up from the chair to run out of the kitchen. Jughead followed with a chuckle, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he rounded the corner.

“Cinds! I missed you so much,” Betty exclaimed, her voice betraying all the happiness she was really feeling, catching Cynthia as she jumped up into her arms. 

“I missed you too,” Cynthia said softly back, wrapping her arms around Betty's neck and her legs around Betty’s waist as Betty adjusted Cynthia’s weight in her arms.

Betty looked down at his daughter fondly, listening intently to her stories about New Year’s and smoothing the hair along Cynthia’s forehead with a touch so gentle it made Jughead’s heart ache in ways he’d seldom experienced. It was exactly what he did: play with the little tendrils that curled around her ears and temples. 

The night passed pretty uneventfully, eating the chicken and potatoes he'd prepared, putting Cynthia to bed early so she could get back on some sort of semblance of a schedule.

As always, his thoughts always went back to Cynthia. About Cynthia’s laugh twinkling in from the other room as Betty made her laugh. How Betty had sat at the table earlier while Jughead cooked dinner, Cynthia in her lap and the two of them worked quietly on the kindergartener’s school work. 

Betty was patient and gentle and kind in a way that seemed to come naturally to her. Cindy was calm already, but she seemed happier, lighter with Betty around, like their personalities complimented each other and Betty brought something out in his daughter that he couldn’t, a curious, sweet, inquisitive side in a girl that was already curious, sweet and inquisitive. 

He wondered if this was how people decades older than him felt when they met the right person. That he wanted everything to happen as soon as possible. He felt like a high schooler, completely infatuated with his first girlfriend but at this point in his life, he knew what he wanted and was unwilling to force himself to act less excited than he was, scared of all the consequences of falling in love. He remembered that Betty still had a life to live, that she didn’t have a kid and she didn’t feel this shrinking of time like he did, the way that everything seemed warped when he became a parent and time seemed to slow and speed.

She was still living her twenties when he was really more in his thirties. He had to slow his roll in a lot of ways. 

Tough when his thoughts constantly when to her. 

* * *

“What was she like as a baby?” Betty asked him one day as they walked home slowly from school on a rare, wet day in the 40s. Cynthia ran ahead to jump into fresh puddles in her yellow rain-boots, singing little songs to herself as she wound back and forth across the path.

“Cute as hell of course,” he chuckled as he grabbed Betty’s bare hand, earning him a little grin. 

“I could’ve guessed,” Betty laughed. 

"And she was…” he struggled to find the right words. “Independent. We’d sit her in the middle of a blanket with some toys and she’d entertain herself for hours. But she always wanted to be near people. The day she was born, she was already trying to lift her head to try and see everyone that that came in and out of the room, and the first couple days there’s just people coming in and out constantly.” 

“I remember that with the twins,” Betty said wistfully. 

She had an odd look on her face, one he hadn’t seen often. A little melancholic, he thought. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. 

“Just nostalgic I guess,” she said with a shrug. “It’s weird to see the kids grow up.” 

“Yeah,” he agreed, “It definitely is. Feels like time just disappears. Can’t believe she’s going to be six soon.” 

“Any plans for her birthday?”

“She’ll be spoiled rotten, I’m sure,” he chuckled. “I think she wants a bike and she seems to have it in her mind that she wants to go to Pop’s.” 

“She is her father’s daughter,” Betty said, grinning at him.

“Absolutely no doubt about it,” he replied quickly. 

He watched her carefully as her expression changed. 

“Cindy,” she called out to the little girl, “not in the street, please.” 

Jughead chuckled to himself.

“What?” she asked self-consciously, her brow creasing.

“You’re just…” He struggled for the appropriate words. “Maternal.” 

She didn’t reply and laughed instead. 

“Do you want kids?” He asked suddenly. 

“I mean,” Betty started and when her words stopped, a blush bloomed over her cheeks. 

“I’m guessing that’s a yes,” he laughed, squeezing her hand quickly, trying to show her that she shouldn’t be ashamed of the answer, knowing that she’d been told her whole life that talking about kids too early in a relationship was a huge no-no. 

“I mean I’ve always wanted them, yeah,” she said, looking sheepishly down at her foot as she kicked a rock across the sidewalk. 

“How many?” He asked, trying to keep the tone nonchalant and conversational, fully aware that it wasn’t really working. 

“Jug-gie,” she laughed, the pet name split into two words, and he bumped her shoulder as encouragement. “I don’t know, like a couple?”

“Ah,” he laughed in reply, thoroughly enjoying the blush on her cheeks.

She watched Cynthia and then her eyes flicked back to him. 

“Did you always want kids?” she asked shyly, a thoughtful tone seeping back into her voice.

“Honestly,” he replied, his mind traveling back to how he was at twenty years old, before Cynthia was in the picture. “I didn’t really think about having kids before Cynthia. Having the childhood I did, it just kinda seemed like a messed up thing to do. I thought I'd turn into my dad, I guess, and I didn’t want to bring a kid into that. To deal with what I had to deal with.” 

“You don’t talk about your childhood a lot,” she said. He could feel her eyes on him and he looked down at the ground thoughtfully, shivering slightly at the new topic of conversation. 

“No, I guess I don’t,” he replied, looking up to see how far away Cynthia was. “It’s not a very cheerful story.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to—”

“It was… I mean, you know most of it,” he said with a shrug, “FP was in a gang, or… well, ran a gang, I guess. There were alcohol and I realized when I was older that there were probably drugs too. I think his dad, my grandfather... it's hard to put into words. He was violent? Broke my dad’s arm once. I never had that but… rent was spent on booze or whatever and I was left to find somewhere to live more than once. Or I had to take care of JB because Mom and Dad were drunk and fighting or… or there wasn’t food in the fridge or Dad left again and didn’t come back and then Mom and JB left too.”

“Juggie,” she said as she paused, and he hated this moment, the moment when people found out about his messed up childhood and the pity filled their eyes like the shame of it filled him and sank in his stomach. It had happened time and time again, when he told Archie’s parents what had happened and why he was coming over for another dinner, when his school teacher asked why he was wearing the same clothes for the third time that week. Relationships changed when the person knew the truth.

He looked up at Betty and saw nothing in her eyes but what was normally there, empathy and love and compassion. She reached her hand up and stroked his cheek with the pad of her thumb before kissing him softly. 

“Thanks for telling me,” she said softly. “I know it can’t be easy.” 

“I’m okay, Betts,” he insisted, kissing her again, getting lost in how much he loved her, how much he appreciated her constant support and love, the way her lips felt against his, her body pressed up against him and her arms wrapped around his neck and—

“Daddy!” A call interrupted him.

“Yeah, honey?” He said with a chuckle, pulling away to rest his forehead against Betty’s.

“What kind of tree is this?” 

He laughed and Betty pulled him towards his daughter and a big oak tree. 

* * *

The problem with being a single dad and having a job in publishing, as an author no less, was that emergency situations came up and Jughead was often shit outta luck.

Toni Topaz called him on the phone in the middle of day one cold February afternoon.

“Jones,” she said quickly, “Be in the city tomorrow, I booked you on The Morning Show and—”

Panic had then commenced. 

Jughead sat at his desk and tried to run through all the options in his head, his thoughts reeling.

He considered taking Cynthia with him but if previous press trips had been any indication of how little fun she would have (and how much extra hassle and stress it would probably cause him), it probably wasn’t a good idea. She was a great kid, but for every five good trips she had, she had one absolutely awful one and he really didn’t want to push his luck in that department on a weekend that held so much importance. 

So he’d called Archie, who’d promptly expressed his regret that he was was playing a show with a band he’d just joined and couldn’t skip out on it, leaving him unavailable. Polly and Daniel were out of town with the twins for Juniper’s soccer tournament and Jughead had the sudden and fleeting realization that he needed to make more friends with the neighbors. As a last attempt, he’d called FP, who hadn’t answered his phone.

Normally, he’d be totally fine with skipping out on the trip all together, telling Toni he just couldn’t swing it. He’d done it a thousand times over the years. After Ashley and when Cynthia was a baby and when things were going on with FP and when life was so messy that thought of a business trip sent him into a spiral. 

But that was years ago. Before therapy, before Riverdale, before Betty. 

On top of that, it wasn’t just some local cable talkshow; it was a big talkshow on a really important network that would not only be great publicity but would also probably make fantastic connections and put his book a few spots higher in the papers. 

But even beyond that, the practical, logical, pragmatic thinking… it was the same talkshow that Jughead played as he made eggs in the morning. The same show that Cynthia heard in the background while she ate at the kitchen table and packed her bag for school. The routine had become some sort of attachment to the traditional, all-American thing that he’d developed and the idea of skipping out on it made his heart sink.

Later that night after dinner and homework and an episode of cartoons, Betty ate ice cream straight from the Ben and Jerry’s carton and Jughead vented.

“Why this weekend?” Jughead asked hypothetically, repeatedly pounding his head against the countertops of the kitchen. “Why is everyone unavailable this weekend?”

“You’re being dense about this,” Betty said matter-of-factly, holding a spoon in her hand.

“How’s that?” He asked sarcastically, propping his head up on his elbow. 

“I could stay with her,” she said exasperatedly. “Obviously.”

Jughead immediately started filing through all the reasons he shouldn’t let her. It was too much to ask of her for one, to watch Cynthia for three entire days, to take her to school and Girl Scouts and to pack her lunch and make her breakfast and prepare dinner and help with her homework and a million other menial tasks ran through his head. 

“Betty…” 

“Jughead.” She mimicked his tone but her eyes were full of laughter as she took another bite of ice cream and flipped the spoon over in her mouth.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask,” she pointed out, gesturing with the spoon. “I offered and now all you have to do is accept.”

“What about work?” He asked, his mind reeling.

“I have plenty of vacation saved up that I never take.”

“You don’t need to take your vacation days to watch my kid—”

Her teasing smile faltered and his heart skipped a beat at the expression that came over her face.

“You don’t have to say yes,” she said softly, biting her bottom lip as doubt filled her eyes. 

“Betts—“

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to,” she said softly, putting the lid back on the carton.  

“Hey,” he said, realizing it came out sharper than he had meant it to when her eyes snapped up to his suddenly and he held his arms out to her. “C’mere.” 

She walked over to him and curled her arms between them, cuddling into his chest. He wondered if she could feel his heartbeat through his shirt.

“It’s not that you wouldn’t be good at it,” he said softly into her eye, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s that it’s… a lot to ask my girlfriend to do.”

“I promise I’m happy to do it,” she replied quietly, nuzzling into his neck. 

“That’s because you’re the nicest person ever,” he chuckled. 

“Am not,” she murmured. 

“Are too,” he chuckled. 

There was a distinction he was hesitant to mess with. A distinction between girlfriend and pseudo-mom, between helping out and being responsible. It wasn’t that Betty couldn’t handle it or even that he was uncomfortable with her having the role, but it was still a lot to ask. A lot to ask of someone to watch her boyfriend’s kids for days. He thought back to the other day, Betty talking about how she wanted kids someday and he wondered if she missed it, if he would have missed it even Cynthia had never happened. 

He was sure Cynthia would be excited to have Betty there even if she’d be disappointed he was leaving, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Who did he trust more than Betty?

It was way too much to ask of his girlfriend of just over two months, to take care of his five-year-old daughter for three whole days while he was off having interviews and promoting his books and the thought of them being. But in the end he had no choice, no choice but to push the responsibility on Betty and depend on her being both insanely nice and incredibly intent on pleasing him.

He rubbed a hand up and down her back.

“Are you sure you’d be okay with… all of that?” he asked, scanning her face for any signs of hesitancy. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.” 

“Promise,” she replied, smiling softly, her eyes glowing in that way they always did in low light. “I’m here all the time anyways.” 

The feeling of her in his arms, of how she wholeheartedly threw herself into caring for others, the nearly empty carton of ice cream on the counter and her shoes by the door filled him with all sorts of feelings and he immediately wanted to hug her closer, pulling her tighter to his chest and she gave a happy little sigh at the development.

“What did I do to deserve you, Betty Cooper?” He asked softly, kissing her forehead again and again.

“I love you, Juggie,” she said simply. 

“I love you, too.”

“And I’d do anything for you and Cynthia.”

“I know,” he said with a smile and her grin made him smile even bigger.

She kissed him chastely and pulled away, holding the spoon in her mouth as she put the ice cream back in the freezer and slid the spoon into the dishwasher. 

“So what time is your flight?” she asked. He pulled out his phone to check his emails. 

“Uh… oh, here it is. Flight leaves at 7 am.” 

“Need a ride?” 

“I think Toni’s sending a car,” he said, scrolling down to the bottom to confirm it. “Yup, here to pick me up and take me to Riverdale Regional at 5:30.”

“Gross,” she laughed. “That’s too early for me anyways.”

He chuckled and tugged her back into his arms for another kiss.


End file.
